A Piece on the Board
by Red Lioness
Summary: Supernatural shennanigans start to fall into place around Dethklok and all the immortals want a piece on the board.  Mentions of Ofdensen/OC/OC/OC, Skwisgaar's usual shennanigans, various supernatural OCs.
1. Prologue

They were most of the way through a meeting when Nathan finally looked up from his texting. Charles was droning on and on about quarterly reports, but for the first time Nathan Explosion noticed the figure standing behind the CFO.

"Who's that?" Nathan demanded.

Offdensen looked over his shoulder at the man in question.

"That's my new assistant, Nathan. Now you boys have a public appearance sched-uled . . . Nathan?"

The rest of the band watched as the front man got up and prowled towards Offdensen's new assistant. He hadn't said anything to this point and was making a show of jotting down notes in his Blackberry. The fact that he kept glancing up warily as Nathan stalked around him kind of ruined the image of 'cool professional' he was trying to project.

The assistant was a young man with tousled blond curls, huge blue eyes, and a face so angelic and sweet a person was looking for the catch as soon as they saw him. No one that cute could be genuine. He'd look more at home in a diaper with a bow and heart-tipped arrows in his hand. He even wore tiny, heart-shaped gold earrings.

He wore a handsome black pinstriped suit that was no doubt ruinously expensive, replete with a charcoal shirt and a red tie. While a red tie could be quite professional, this one had a pattern of white and black hearts scrawled on it.

"My God," Nathan growled. "He's absolutely perfect."

The assistant threw a desperate look at his boss, while Charles merely looked mildly surprised. Pickles and Murderface exchanged a look. The tinny noise of Skwisgaar's picking increased slightly in rate.

"Wow, dat's pretty gay," Toki announced.

"Top a' th' morning to ya," Pickles muttered in what was supposed to be an Irish accent.

The leprechaun incident had not been forgotten and was brought up and flung back in the young Norwegian's face at every available opportunity.

Toki immediately turned beet red. Turning away from the group, he pulled his knees up to his chin, hugged his legs and _pouted_.

"Um . . . . . . uh . . . . . that's . . . . I'm glad you think so, Nathan," Charles finally sputtered. "If . . ah . . if we could get back to—"

"I mean, he's _perfect_! Did you hold a contest or something? How did you get – oh, wait, let me see your teeth."

The assistant let out a squawk and what was probably meant to be a very rude word as Nathan grabbed his head, wrenched it back and peeled apart the assistant's lips.

"Awww, no space," the frontman observed sadly. "If you had a space between your front teeth you'd be completely perfect."

A few of the band glanced at Murderface. The bassist's mustache shifted as if he were curling his tongue thoughtfully over his teeth.

Nathan released Charles' assistant, who blurted out: '-the _FUCK_?' before toppling over backwards.

Charles looked as his front man, looked at his spluttering assistant, wondered – not for the first time – what the hell was going on in Nathan's head, and fell back on manners.

"Um . . Nathan Explosion, I'd like you to meet my new assistant, Matthias Conway. Conway, this is –"

"Oh bullshit!" Nathan roared. "I don't care what his mother calls him!" The singer seized the unfortunate Mr. Conway by the shoulders and pushed him towards Charles. "You hired _**Mr. Humphries**_!"

The sharp, staccato bark of laughter that echoed through the meeting room startled the band. It startled Mr. Humphries nee Conway. It certainly startled Charles, who slapped his hand over his mouth in a vain effort to hold the mirth in.

"Oh dood . . . oh _dood_, he totally is!" Pickles sniggered, finally coming up to speed. "I used t' watch that show all th' time!"

"Just for the record," Conway sighed. "I'm _a lot_ younger than John Inman – God rest his mincing soul – was when he played Mr. Humphries."

"What show ams dis?" Toki asked, finally coming out of his pout.

"_Are You Being Served?_," Charles answered, getting his amusement under control. "I . . .uh . . . it was a British comedy shown in the seventies and eighties. One of the most popular characters was a camp-tastic . . . . er . . ."

"Poof?" Nathan offered.

"Ish 'poof' British for 'fag'?" Murderface asked, eyeing Conway critically.

"Yes," the man in question sighed. "Though if you actually paid attention to the show, Mr. Humphries was bisexual."

"You really think so?" Nathan gaped.

"Well yeah; I mean, repeated references to 'straddling the fence' and being 'in the middle' and 'neither one way nor the other' . . . plus he had a girlfriend in the second series," Conway stated.

"There was a second series? Oh, we gotta get it! I have to see it! Hey." Nathan leaned down until his face was level with Matthias's. "Say it."

A begrudging smile flitted around the assistant's mouth.

"I've never tried to do an impression," he admitted.

"It won't matter how good you do the voice with your looks. Say it."

Matthias sighed once more, but grinned.

"Set me up," he requested of the frontman.

"Are you free, Mr. Humphries?" Nathan asked in a faux English accent.

"I'm freeeeeeeee!" Matthias Conway trilled in a high-pitched voice.

Nathan howled with laughter. Pickles giggled hysterically and even Charles was unsuccessful in keeping a straight face.

"Oh man, I like you," Nathan declared, hugging Conway to his side. "I hope you live longer than Charles' other assistants."

"So ams yous bisexuals likes de Mr. Humphries?" Toki asked curiously.

"You looksings for a date?" Skwisgaar sneered.

The rhythm guitarist blushed hotly and scowled at his band mates, prepping for another 'curl up and pout' maneuver.

"Ah, no, I'm not," Conway announced. "I'm all the way gay."

There was a long pause as the band took in the fact that Nathan Explosion was hugging a gay guy. There was a longer pause as Nathan Explosion took in the fact that Nathan Explosion was hugging a gay guy. After a few minutes, he nodded and slapped the smaller man on the shoulder.

"That's okay," Nathan announced. "Because you're Mr. Humphries. So it's okay. Oh. Wait."

The front man wrapped an arm around Conway's head as if he were shielding the blond from scandalous words and leaned towards Charles.

"Are you fucking him?" he hissed in a stage whisper.

"What?" The manager blurted.

"Is he a fuck toy? I mean . . . he's kinda pretty for a suit."

Charles gaped at the singer for a long moment.

"I'm not gay! Nathan you've met – talked to my lady friends on the phone!"

"They could be a front," the singer growled.

"Lady friends? Charles, you have lady friends?" Pickles asked. "As in, more than one? You dawg!"

"Can I say something?" Conway asked. "I don't know if Mr. Offdensen is gay or not, but I'm definitely not sleeping with him."

"How do we know that for shure?" Murderface asked suspiciously.

"Come on! Look at him! He's like, twice my age!" Matthias announced. "I could get a much better looking guy than him."

"You coulds bes after hims fors de money," Skwisgaar pointed out.

"I am not gay. I like women. Blondes in particular!" Charles stressed.

"He ams a blond," Toki said.

"But he's not a woman!"

"I get paid plenty just being his assistant," Conway said. "Plus I have a thing for long-haired guys. Green eyes are nice, too. Has anyone seen my Blackberry?"

Matthias pried himself out of Nathan's grip and started hunting around the floor for his device.

"Weeeee-ll, I gu-ess," Pickles allowed. "You sure he's not just a piece of desk candy?"

"Women, Pickles," Charles stressed. "Blondes with nice curves and stockings with seams up the back. And nice, full lips. And pretty blue almond eyes. I mean, how many Asians have blue eyes? Those are such rare jewels."

The manager paused.

Dethklok was watching him curiously. Conway had crawled under the table to try to retrieve his Blackberry.

"Ahem! That concludes the meeting, boys! If there aren't any other questions, we'll ajourn!"

"Dat means he wants us to leave," Pickles announced.

"Leaves hims alones with his littles blonds boy," Skwisgaar murmured, standing.

The rest of the band sniggered and filed out. Nathan was still muttering about the second series of _Are You Being Served? _

"I'm going to have to plan that damn dinner sooner than I thought," Charles sighed.

"Found it!" Conway declared.

Nathan slammed the door to the meeting room. There was a tinkle from overhead and the heavy iron chandelier smashed into the table, causing it to collapse. There was a certain gristly, organic noise from under the wreckage of the table.

"Ah . . . Mr. Conway?"

A pool of blood was seeping out from under the wreckage of the table.

"Well, it's the acid test," Charles sighed, turning back to his paperwork.

After about five minutes, there was an even gristlier organic noise and a sudden absence of the smell of blood. Matthias Conway dragged himself out of the wreckage of the table and straightened his suit.

"The bad news is: I'm going to need another Blackberry," he said, holding out the crushed remains of the personal assisting gizmo.

"That can be arranged. Well; I think I'm going to like having an immortal for a personal assistant."


	2. Chapter 1

They were on vacation. They didn't often go on – no, that wasn't true. The _band_ went on vacation quite often. _Charles_ never went on vacation. The CFO claimed that he also got a vacation when Dethklok was gone, but that wasn't true; he just got to work uninterrupted, which wasn't quite the same.

This had originally been another band-only vacation, but something had changed that. They blamed it all on Murderface, but the truth was they had all been hard on the manager for several weeks. They had stormed into his office to badger him once more, but found Charles laid back in his chair, his shirt unbuttoned and face pale. Two medical Gears were bent over him, Dr. Deadman supervising their efforts. After several long, tense minutes, the doctor declared Charles out of danger. In his normal flat, apathetic tone, Dr. Deadman explained that the manager was suffering heart palpitations, _not_ having a heart attack.

"What's the fucking difference?" Nathan growled.

"Heart palpitations are just your heart beating too fast or beating in the wrong rhythm. They don't actually hurt you on their own; they just make you _think_ you're having a heart attack."

"What causes them?" Charles asked, buttoning up his shirt.

"Stress. Too much caffeine. Binge drinking."

"Ah, I see."

"No coffee or booze for a week or so and you should be fine."

A muscle twitched under Charles' eye.

"No coffee?" he echoed in horror.

"Fine; drink all the coffee you want. Whatever. Enjoy the sensation that your heart is about to explode," Dr. Deadman snarled. "What the fuck do I know about it? I'm just a doctor."

The medical Gears gathered up their equipment and the trio left Charles' office.

"He ams always so angry," Toki observed.

Nathan didn't comment, just stared down at his manager.

"Huh. You'd better come on vacation with us," he declared.

"Vacation? Nathan, I couldn't possibly—"

"You're always telling us we need to take care of ourselves and listen to doctors and shit! Now it's your turn! If you go on vacation, you could drink coffee!"

"Yeah, dood, if you want to keep drinkin' coffee – or better yet, booze! – then you'd better come on vacation an' de-stress with us!" Pickles declared.

"I think I could give up coffee for a week without issue . . ." Charles protested.

"Good! Then you could shtill drink booze on vacation. If the doctor told you to shtop doing three thingsh and you shtop doing two of them, then you'll get shixty-shix percshent better! That'sh bashic math!"

"I'm not sure it works like that, William."

"You can'ts dies again!" Toki yelled.

"Toki, I'm not – look, I don't think a vacation with you boys would be very restful, honestly. I appreciate the sentiment and I will plan a –"

"We could so make you a nice vacation!" Pickles protested.

"Yeah, if we leave you to do it alone, you'll probably try to work online or something! We're just trying to help you!" Nathan thundered.

"We cares about you!" Skwisgaar blurted.

There was a long, awkward pause.

"Um . . . all right," Charles conceded. "I'll . . . uh . . . go on vacation with you boys."

Two weeks later, the manager was hesitantly willing to admit that the boys had put together a restful vacation. They were in some island off the coast of the Yucatan Peninsula, in a mid-range hotel. Murderface had made the booking; at first the rest of the band declared it too cheap to bother with, but Charles had liked the look of the courtyard, so they decided to stay.

Now he was lying in a lounger next the pool, a drink close at hand, sunglass lenses clipped onto his glasses and tropical sun leaching into his bones. Charles was forced to admit; this was pretty good.

"My God, you are surprisingly hairy," Nathan's voice declared.

Charles twisted his head to look at the lead singer, who was standing over him holding a beer.

"Excuse me?" Charles inquired.

"Charles! Watches dis! Watches me, Charles!" Toki cried.

"I mean, you look like this bookish little geeky type, but under that suit you're part bear."

"Lots of men have hairy chests, Nathan," the manager said, taking a sip of his drink.

"Charles! Watches! Ams you watching?"

"Yeah, but less of them have hairy stomachs. Jesus, you even have a happy trail. Dear God, I can't believe I just said that."

"Charles!"

"I'm watching, Toki!" the manager called.

The rhythm guitarist gave a little wiggle of delight, backed away from the pool edge, ran forward, and did a forward somersault into the water. The resulting splash spattered everyone in a twenty foot radius. Toki surfaced.

"Did joos see?" He asked.

"I saw. It was very cool, Toki!" Charles announced.

Toki grinned and he kept on grinning until a bottle of tanning butter bounced off of his head.

"Watches its! I just whats gots alls de lotins ams perfect!" Skwisgaar yelled. "Don'ts whats needs splashes ons mines perfect skin tan! Fuckings Toki."

Nathan tore his eyes away from his manager and looked over at the Swede, who was fussily reapplying tanning butter to his ankle. The lead guitarist was wearing nothing more than a tiny white speedo and body oil. A group of female retirees were edging closer to him as though they couldn't believe their luck. After a moment, an unpleasant smile crossed Nathan's face.

"Yeah, Toki, that was rude! I mean; if you're going to splash Skwisgaar, you should get all of him!" Nathan offered.

"_Jas_, Toki, you shoulds – whats?"

The lead guitarist could do little more than flail as Nathan cannon-balled into the pool right next to his lounge chair. The resulting splash could have swamped small fishing vessels. Skwisgaar cursed, Toki laughed, and Pickles and Murderface called encouragement from the poolside bar.

And no one was looking at Charles.

The CFO gestured quickly. A small figure in a white linen suit detached itself from the background of the courtyard and knelt by Offdensen's chair.

"Crystal Mountain caved instantly, Japan upped its bid for the next merchandising operation by four million, the repairs to Mordhaus's eighth anti-gravity engine are finished, and Martin, Petty, and Moore are gathering plaintiffs for another paternity class action suit against Skwisgaar. Also, just a thought; maybe you should actually be resting on your vacation," Conway stated.

"Wait until Japan's offer goes up another three million then accept, e-mail Legal and have them start up a Skwisgaar 12B defense case and I don't think I should be taking health advice from an immortal," Charles returned, sipping his drink.

Conway jotted down a few notes on a new Blackberry.

"I was mortal once," the small blond stated with a slight frown. "And I was very healthy."

"Oh really? What happened?"

"I was murdered. Horribly. With extreme prejudice, you might say. But, I was in love with an immortal who refused to let me die. He filled me full of power and when I transmogrified, that love colored my powers and let me take my place in the American Pantheon."

Charles considered this.

"There isn't an 'American Pantheon'. There's a _Native Am_—"

"Says you," Matthias said without vitriol. "Even the gods Americans have borrowed from somewhere else have their own distinct incarnation stateside."

Charles looked around to make sure there was no one close enough to be listening in.

"So . . . if you're actually Cupid . . . you're just the _American_ Cupid?"

"Yup. Classical Cupid is a different guy. Same with Eros. I'm quite happy to be the new kid on the block; Classic Cupid and Eros were both pretty much saddled with only lust in the way of powers. Thanks to Valentine's Day propaganda and the vagaries of the English language, my own purview is a bit more cosmopolitan."

"Does that happen often? Mortals becoming gods?"

"More often than you'd think," Matthias said with a shrug. "Chuck Norris is getting there."

A rare snort of laughter escaped the CFO.

"Chuck Norris . . ." he murmured.

"Are you free, Mr. Humphries?"

"I'm freeeeeeee!" Matthias trilled.

Nathan, still standing waist deep in the pool, howled with laughter.

"That never gets old!" He declared. "Hey, what are you doing here?"

"We're doing anything but working," Charles murmured, taking another drink.

"We're planning a hot, naked, gay tryst for tonight!" Matthias announced cheerfully. "I was just ordering the baby oil and gerbils."

For a long minute, the only sound was Charles choking on his amaretto sour.

"He was working, wasn't he?" Nathan growled. "He's not supposed to be working! Get the fuck out of here!"

The CFO's personal assistant turned back to his boss with a shrug.

"I tried."

"I do _not_ need a cover story like that! Go . . . go see to those things I told you about!"

Matthias grinned and winked at Charles, then walked across the courtyard and headed into the lobby. Nathan watched him go. The hulking front man was going to chastise his manager once the assistant was out of sight, but something caught his eye.

A woman started following Conway.

She was Native – Incan or Mayan or whatever the local flavor was – but _tall_. She was dressed in a thin linen dress in the palest blue. Her dark skin showed through the linen, giving the impression that she was veiled more than covered. She looked Nathan's way and for a moment, Explosion could swear he hear the surf. Then she looked away and followed Matthias into the lobby.

" –doesn't joo t'ink sos?"

"What?" Nathan blurted.

"I _saids_, Charles deserveses a dunking for tryings to works on vacation!" Toki repeated.

A wicked grin crossed Nathan's face.

"Oh. Oh _yeah_! Those are the new rules! If we catch you working, we dump you in the pool, Charles!"

Offdensen curled up on his lounger.

"Uh . . . . . first offense?" He suggested.

"_Get him!_"

As chaos erupted in the courtyard, Matthias took a laptop from a nearby Gear and headed for a chair in a nice, breezy spot by the door. The mystery beauty ghosted along behind him until she was within touching distance. Then she reached out with one finger, poked Conway in the back of the head and went: "Pppbbbtth!"

Matthias jerked around, then grinned broadly.

"Oh my God, JB! Hi! What the hell are you doing here?"

"Hi, Matty! Geez, it's been years!"

The pair hugged in the middle of the lobby.

"You look great! Look at your little linen suit! You look like an adorable Panama Jack!"

"And you! Finally gave the cowgirl thing the old heave-ho?"

JB shrugged.

"It's too damn hot down here for jeans and boots. Plus, I think look kinda good in these sun dresses." The dark-skinned woman executed a little spin. "Hey! Let's go across the street to the café and you can do your online stuff there and we can catch up!"

"Um . . ." Matthias looked around JB back to the courtyard.

Charles pounded past the windows, Nathan hot on his heels. The manager darted for the door to the lobby, but Murderface was suddenly there, blocking his escape. Toki tackled Offdensen from behind and there was a confusing pile of swimsuit-clad men. Then Charles was hoisted bodily into the air by Nathan, Toki, and Skwisgaar and marched towards the pool. All five band members were chanting 'No work! No work! No work!'

Matthias sighed.

"Yeah. I think that would be an awesome idea."

A few minutes later, Matthias was ensconced at a patio table overlooking the ocean with his laptop open in front of him. JB appeared with two tropical drinks and set one in front of the secretary before sitting down at the opposite chair.

"So! How's the whole 'personal assistant' thing going?" she asked.

"One sec," Matthias said, holding up a finger. He finished writing the last e-mail and sent it off, then closed his laptop and took a drink.

"Well, sometimes it sucks and sometimes it's fun, but at least I've got a piece on the board."

"A piece on the board?" JB echoed. "What do you mean by that?"

Matthias gave her a look.

"Sweetie, there's shit going on around Dethklok and when it hits the fan, it's gonna so far South it will hit freakin' Mexico," Matthias announced.

"We're in freakin' Mexico," JB pointed out.

"We're in _tourist_ Mexico," Conway corrected. "I mean Third World, drug-cartel controlled Mexico."

"Mexico's actually a Second-World country," JB said. "It just barely qualifies, but it's not a Third World country."

"Okay; moot point. The fact of the matter is: angels and demons are going to start brawling over this world and if us dirty Pagans want a hand in it, we have to stake our claims now."

"I see. Well, good luck with that," JB said simply. "The fact of the matter is: I can't find Nessie."

"Why should you care if you do?" Matthias inquired.

"She's my mentor. I kinda need to keep track of her," JB offered. "Oh! Let me show you this trick she taught me! It's so cool! Watch! Are you watching?"

"You can't find her because she's a flaky-ass fairy and all fairies are fucking flaky as hell," Matthias growled.

JB froze in place and stared at Matthias for a long time.

"Oh. Uh. Okay. Um, are you and Phooka . . . . having problems?" she finally asked.

"I would love it if Phooka and I were having problems," Matthias said simply. "Because that would mean I would know where the fuck Phooka was. Fucking flaky-ass fairy."

JB stared at the blond with the sort of mortal dread reserved for those who have well and truly put their foot in it. She took a deep draught of her drink, drummed her fingers on the rim of the glass, took another drink, then finally hazarded a look at Matthias.

"Hypothetical question," she offered. "How about if I magically harassed Toki Wartooth until his fairy godfather showed up? How would you feel about that?"

Matthias sighed.

"Okay, A) you're assuming a being who hasn't bothered to keep track of his _husband_ is going to know where the hell his _sister_ is and B) we've just established that fairies are fucking flaky as hell so who's to say he would actually show up if his charge were in trouble?"

"Good point," JB muttered, folding her hands around the stem of her glass.

Matthias drained the glass before him in one long, extended draught.

"How about . . . . um . . . . do you need a friend?"

Matthias stared at JB for a while.

"What do you mean, 'do I need a friend?'"

"Well, we've just established that your husband is a flaky bastard and you're working your ass off trying to have a stake in the coming shenanigans. Do you need a shoulder to cry on? I know I'm just a lowly water spirit and you're a god now, but . . ." JB let the sentence drift and shrugged.

Matthias stared at her for a long moment, then smiled.

"Sure. Everybody needs a friend. So! Learning to be a sea serpent, huh?"

JB looked insanely proud of herself.

"Yup! I are a college girl now! No more being a simple posthuman! I've learned to Enchant with music and cast Glamour and control water and teleport . . . even shapeshift a little!"

"Congratulations! That's awesome! I guess all my old friends are coming up in the world."

"Have you heard from Jack lately?"

"No. Why? Is he immortal now too?"

"I don't know; I just haven't heard from him in forever. I thought you might have heard something."

"No . . . I've been busy," Matthias sighed.

"Hey. You know what you should do?" JB asked. "On the other side of the island are some cliffs. The wind roars in off of the sea and it feels like you could just step off the edge and fly away."

"That sounds nice," Conway allowed.

"What you should do is—"

The rest of the sentence was drowned in the sound of a massive explosion. JB whipped her head back towards the hotel they had just left. Matthias just shook his head lightly.

"They're fine," Matthias stated. "They're always fine."

The dark-haired woman sighed and looked back towards Matthias.

"You and me, honey; we need to have a girls' night out."


	3. Chapter 2

"A moment of your time, Mr. Offdensen?"

Charles awoke with a snort and realized he had fallen asleep on the lounger beside the pool.

"'M I sunburned?" he groaned.

"No, sir. The Gears brought you a sunshade."

Charles groaned again and rubbed his face.

"Where are my glasses?"

"Here, sir."

The manager took his spectacles from the pink and white blur that turned out to be Conway.

"Where are the boys?"

"Pickles is sleeping in the chair next to you, Skwisgaar is in his suite with five retired teachers, and Murderface is in town getting a new tattoo," Matthias informed him.

"Where are Nathan and Toki?"

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about."

Instantly, Charles leapt out of the lounger.

"Send the Gears out in a search pattern, island vacation style! Keep in contact by . . ." Charles trailed off as Matthias waved his hands soothingly.

"We know where they _are_," the manager's assistant clarified. "It's just a bit worrying. Generally Dethklok band members and pressurized tanks are a recipe for disaster."

"I've seen them burn down a major stadium armed with only bicentennial quarters," Charles announced. "Pressurized tanks? What are they doing?"

"You're gonna want to come up slowly; never rise faster than your own bubbles," the dive master instructed. "We're gonna go down to about 40-50 feet, real easy. We gonna make a safety stop at fifteen feet. Gonna wait there three minutes, then fill your BCD and rise to the surface."

Nathan looked over at Toki.

"What's a BCD again?" he growled.

"Joo nots pays attentions, Nat'an! De BCD ams joo inflatesables vest." The guitarist squeezed a button on a tube leading from his vest and caused it to inflate.

Charles walked out onto the dock, Conway in tow, and looked down into the tide pool where his lead singer and guitarist floated with a dive instructor.

"Scuba diving?" he said in surprise.

"Hi Charles! We goings to swims wit' sharks!" Toki called, waving.

"Sharks?" the manager said worriedly.

"Not until tomorrow," Nathan corrected. "We're getting certified right now. We're going to go shark diving tomorrow."

"_Ja_, we's has to takes a boat out overs de reef an' dives down into caves and watches de underwater friends!"

"A boat? Caves?"

"Yeah, you want to come with us?" Nathan asked.

"Uh . . . I . . . I can't swim. Thanks, though," Charles lied.

As the boys put on their masks and made their descent under the watchful gaze of the dive master, the manager cast around. His gaze fell on his personal assistant: intelligent, reliable and unkillable.

"You go with them," Charles ordered.

"_Bullshit_. Water's not my thing."

The look Charles gave his assistant should have left his gory remains strewn around the beach. Employees of Dethklok _did not _say 'no' to the CFO. Conway appeared nonplussed. Apparently being unable to die made you fear your employers less. The immortal thought for a moment.

"But I have a friend. She'll make sure they come back alive."

"I suppose that's acceptable. See to it," Charles growled.

The manager fretted and paced the dock until Toki and Nathan resurfaced and struggled up onto dry land dragging their heavy gear.

"Charles! Charles! We saws de lionfishes and de dives master killeded one!" Toki announced gleefully.

"He did? Why did he do that?"

"They're like, invasive species," Nathan answered. "They're only supposed to be in the Pacific but they've been showing up and killing off the local wildlife. He stabbed it with this long metal spike, then cut it up and fed the pieces to an anemone. It was totally metal."

Toki's excitement was to be expected, but Charles was a little surprised to see a big smile on Nathan's face as well.

"You . . . ah . . . you boys had fun, huh?"

A few employees of the dive shop hurried forward to help Nathan and Toki take their tanks off.

"Yeah, it was cool. Ow. Fuck. Ow. Remind me to wear a fucking ponytail tomorrow," the lead singer growled, pulling off his mask and ripping away a few strands of ebony hair in the process.

"Eeeeeee, _ja_, I gonna braids mines hair," Toki agreed, experiencing the same problem as Nathan.

"Joo looks alls colds ands red rubber rings," Skwisgaar called.

The lead guitarist sauntered down towards the pier wearing what could only be described as a white sleeveless tunic and loose pants. The Swede exuded the sort of ethereal grace and masculine beauty that made you want to punch him really hard somewhere that would leave a mark.

"_Ja_, whats you does all day? Fucks olds ladies? Pffffft," Toki snorted, struggling out of his wetsuit. "Borings! We gets to sees fish murder!"

"Oh! Oh, song idea!" Nathan cried. The lead singer felt around where his pockets would be if he were wearing jeans. "Damn! Gear!"

An attendant Gear hurried forward with a pocket recorder and held it out towards Nathan Explosion.

"'Fish murder', Lionfish genocide/ poison creature invasion/ war underwater/ homicide on the reef!/ Poison barbs stabbing/ anemones grabbing/ struggle for survival in the sea!/ Kill for your home!/Kill for your lives!/ Crushing pressure . . . something . . . something dives! Okay, that's it for now. I'll clean it up later."

"Sounds pretty good!" Pickles called, strolling down to the pier with a drink in his hand.

Charles felt an urge creep over him. It was probably stupid and would come back to bite him in the ass, but there was no way he could resist.

"Nathan?"

"Yeah, what?"

"No working on vacation."

Without another thought, Charles threw his weight against the larger man and toppled Nathan off the edge of the pier. He barely had time to laugh before Pickles lunged forward and shoved him off as well.

"Tellin' us what t' do is your job! No workin' on vacation!"

There was another howl and Toki came to the edge of the pier, his arms wrapped around Skwisgaar's waist. The rhythm guitarist heaved his fellow Scandinavian into the surf.

"What did Skwisgaar do?" Pickles asked.

"Whats? Not'ings, I just wanted to does that since we gots heres!"

"Fuckin' Toki!"

Murderface came running up and shoved Toki off the pier, laughed, tripped on the boards and fell into the water as well.

"Douchebags," Pickles chuckled. "Ah, fuck it."

The drummer tossed his half empty glass over his shoulder, held his nose and jumped into the ocean.

After a hot shower and a fresh change of clothes, the band plus Charles went into town for dinner. They found an open air restaurant serving fresh seafood. A vendor came by selling Cuban cigars. They filled up on fish and shrimp, then sat around drinking and smoking.

"I take it back," Charles all but purred. "This is an awesome vacation."

Only Pickles appeared to hear him. Nathan and Murderface were trying to win a drunken argument by volume alone. Toki and Skwisgaar were switching between arguing and murmuring softly in a Scandinavian language – most likely Swedish.

"I tol' ya," Pickles slurred. "Tol' ya we could make you a nice vacation."

"Thanks, Pickles," Charles murmured, taking another toke of his cigar.

"So. Hey. Charles. Y-you got a girlfriend, right?"

" . . . what?"

"When . . when . . .when you got yer new assistant, y'said Nathan had talked to yer lady friends on the phone. Y'serious about one of them?"

"I'm serious about all of them," Charles answered.

"D-dude . . . how many you got?"

"Three."

"D-dude . . . that's . . . heh . . . dude. What'll ya do if they find out about each other?"

"Find out? They're sisters; of course they know about each other."

"Wh-WHAT? Dude . . . DUDE! That's awesome! You're like . . . you're like that dude on TLC with 19 wives!"

Charles considered this.

"I think you're thinking about the Duggars, Pickles. They're the family with 19 kids. The Sister Wives guy has four wives."

"Oh. Are you gonna marry 'em?"

"I can't. It's kind of illegal."

"Oh. Ya gonna have any kids?"

"Uh –" Charles desperately wanted to say he already had five children, but Dethklok would probably take him at his word and demand he produce five offspring he didn't actually have.

"You should. You'd be a good father."

Charles blinked owlishly at the drummer.

"You . . . you think so?"

"Yeah. Hey Nat'an! Wouldn't Charles be a good dad?"

Nathan pried his attention away from Murderface for a second.

"No!" the singer roared. "He'd be a great dad. Hey, hey Murderface; I'll admit you're right if you can tell me what this is."

Nathan held up a mostly-eaten plate of fish cerviche.

"Fuck you, Nathan!"

Maybe it was the alcohol swimming in his system, but Charles felt a lump welling in his throat.

"That's the nicest thing you boys have ever said to me."

"Why didn't you bring your chicks on vacation?"

"This is a boys' vacation," Charles answered. "I'll bring them here sometime. So; what about you, Pickles? Are you ever going to settle down and have kids?"

"Aw, fuck that; I got snipped years ago."

"'Snipped'? You got a vasectomy?"

"Keep your voice down! Geez; just 'cause I know I'd be a shit parent doesn't mean I want everybody t' know I shoot blanks. Nah, after growin' up in my fucked up family, I didn't want t' even accidentally make a kid. I had th' operation when I was twenty-four. They didn't want t' do it on someone so young, but I showed 'em my track marks and the doctor agreed I shouldn't have any kids."

The drummer paused for a long pull on his cigar.

"I don't think anybody here's gonna actually have a family. I know I'd be shit. Murderface hates everyone too much t' even get a chick t' hang around that long. Skwisgaar . . . . well . . . you know Skwisgaar. Nathan might actually be decent, but I don't think he wants kids. Toki . . . I don't have Toki's optimism. He thinks he can still be a good dad by jest doin' th' opposite of what his dad did. You're th' closest one of us t' normal. You should go for it. Ya got a picture of your chicks?"

Charles pulled out his Dethphone and flipped through the photos until he found one of the triplets.

"Here they are."

Pickles squinted at the screen.

"Cute," he announced. "But why do you have a picture of them snuggling up with this guy? Do they have another boyfriend on the side?"

"Pickles, that's _me_," Charles stated.

Pickles blinked at Charles, looked back at the picture, looked back at Charles and started to laugh hysterically.

"Oh my Gahd! Oh my Gahd! Dude – how old is that picture?"

"It was taken right before your anti-recession concert. What's wrong with it?"

"The beard?" Pickles prompted.

"I was trying to change my appearance."

"Oh dude! Nat'an, check this out!" Pickles snatched the phone away and held it out to the lead singer. "That's _Charles_!"

"Pickles! That doesn't belong to you and I was told I looked pretty sexy with that beard!"

"Told by whom?" Nathan asked, taking the phone.

"By _experts_," Charles snapped. He tried to stand to retrieve his phone, but every drop of alcohol in his system decided to cut him off at the knees. The CFO fell face down into a plate of half-eaten flan. He surfaced to the sight of the band laughing hysterically at him. His phone had travelled around to Skwisgaar, who was nodding in approval.

"Nots bads fors a butlers," he surmised, handing it off to Murderface.

"_Three_ chicksh? You have three chicksh? How much are you paying them?"

Toki snatched to phone away and punched Murderface in the shoulder hard enough to knock the bassist out of his chair.

"Charles don'ts gots to pays dem! He probablies knows whats hows to has a reals relationships! Looks – awwwwwww, joo all looks sos happy! I joos in so much loves . . . dey probablies don'ts even cares dat's you's famous. Oh . . .oh . . . . Toki's wants dat . . ."

The young Norwegian's mood abruptly nose-dived from cheerful to morose and he started crying hysterically. Then Murderface staggered to his feet and broke a chair across Toki's back. After that, as Offdensen would say 'the meeting broke up.'

A pair of figures watched the dinner descend into drunken chaos from afar.

"That's seriously what all the fuss is about? They're idiots."

"Just keep them alive," Matthias instructed. "Morons they may be, but they're very valuable morons. A lot of very influential immortals have stakes in this game. Who knows? You may get to dabble your toe in more than sea songs, JB. Just be careful. Their reputation is completely valid."

"You know; I like this island. They better not fuck it up," JB growled.

"Just keep them alive."


	4. Chapter 3

"Oooohhh God, it's way too early in the morning," Nathan growled.

"It ams eleven o'clock," Toki pointed out in a petulant voice. "I beens up since seven thirtys."

"Being a morning person is your worst fucking trait, Toki," Nathan announced. "You should work on that."

Toki's face screwed up into a pout. The pair was standing on the dock as Gears and dive shop employees loaded the dive gear onto a boat. The two heavy metal gods had bought out the boat, so they wouldn't be bothered by regular jackoffs. Nathan and Toki crawled from the dock onto the boat. The dive master introduced himself and the captain of the boat and a few helpers before explaining the plan for the dive.

"What about her?" Nathan asked, pointing. "What's she here for?"

There was a woman sitting on the other end of the boat, eating a sandwich. She was long and tall, but obviously native – Incan or Mayan or whatever the local flavor was. She wore a pair of cutoff jeans and a bikini and those big, round sunglasses that were popular with chicks.

Nathan was used to women pretending to ignore him while putting themselves on display. This woman didn't sit like that. She sat like she really didn't think anyone was looking at her, which was weird because she was actually pretty hot.

The dive master turned, looked directly at the woman and looked back to Nathan Explosion with a confused expression.

"Um . . . who?"

"What do you mean, who? That chick right there!"

Said chick paused while chewing and straightened slightly. The dive master looked at her again, then looked back at Nathan.

"Um . . . sir, there is nobody there."

"Are you fucking blind? She's sitting right there!"

"Nathans, you high?" Toki inquired.

"What? You can't see her either? Are you serious? There's a hot chick with big tits in Daisy Dukes and a bikini top sitting right _there_."

From what he could tell behind the big bug-eyed sunglasses, the hot chick was staring at him in confusion.

"Ah . . . . yes. Yes sir, I can see her. A beautiful lady oiling herself up for sunbathing . . ." the dive master offered.

"She's eating a sandwich!"

"Oh."

"Look, just take two steps that way and grab the rail; you'll have to touch her," Nathan ordered.

The dive master stared miserably at the singer, cast a look at the two attendant Gears, then took two steps to his left and grabbed the rail. The woman carefully got up and moved out of the way.

"Damn it, she moved! Now she's gone."

"Yeah, Nat'an, dat's what a lady what ain'ts dere no more looks like," Toki said. "Whats did yous take? Gots any more?"

"I . . . didn't take anything," Nathan stated.

The strange woman moved across to the other side of the cabin and Nathan lost sight of her.

"Don'ts fucking flips out when we's down dere; Charles never lets us goes divings again," Toki chided.

"Fuck you, Toki," Nathan growled without much heat.

The boat took off across the waves, ferrying the men towards their target reef. Toki took the opportunity to ask questions of the crew in fractured English and get the answers in even more fractured English. Nathan watched the rhythm guitarist surmount not one but two language barriers for a while, then looked around the boat.

The woman no one else could see was sitting on the bow, dangling her legs over the edge. The front man gingerly picked his way to the front of the boat and sat down next to her.

"So . . . . like, how come no one can see you but me?" he asked.

"A better question would be: How come _you_ can see me?" she countered. She slipped her sunglasses down and peered at Nathan critically over the rims. "Are you Aware?"

"Aware of what?"

"That's a 'No,'" she said, pushing her sunglasses back up. "You must have a really strong connection to water. I guess that means _DethWater_ was your idea."

"Yeah," Nathan said.

"That album rocked, by the way," she said grudgingly. "I really liked _Water God_. It was pretty . . . accurate."

"'Accurate'?"

"Honestly, I thought if I had troubles with the Glamour it would be with him." The woman nodded towards Toki. "If he had any more troll blood he'd have a tail."

"Are you like . . . a sea witch or something?"

The woman snorted.

"File me under 'or something'," she said with a grin. "I'm here to keep an eye on you two and make sure you don't fuck up my reefs." The woman slid her sunglasses down again and fixed Nathan with a look. "Don't fuck up my reefs."

"We are legally exempt from any responsibility concerning our . . . our . . . uh . . . what's that word that means we're close to something?"

The woman thought for a minute.

"Vicinity?"

"Yeah. We are legally exempt from any responsibility concerning any disasters that take place in our vicinity," Nathan said in a laboriously slow tone, as though he were repeating something that had been drilled into him.

"Yeah, that's nice, but if you fuck up my reefs, I ain't gonna take you to court. I'm going to hit you somewhere your demon lawyer can't protect you."

" . . . there's nowhere Charles couldn't protect us," Nathan said after a moment's hesitation. "He came back from the dead for us."

"Don't say I didn't warn you," the stranger said, then rolled off of the side of the boat and landed in the ocean with a splash.

"Whats was dat? Was dat a dolphin?" Toki asked, crawling up onto the bow with Nathan.

"Uh . . . . yeah. You missed it."

"Awwww . . . . maybe we sees one on de dive!"

"Yeah, maybe. Hey, do you think there's any way Charles couldn't protect us?"

"Whats? No ways; he ams Charles," the young Norwegian said dismissively.

"Yeah. Yeah, you're right. Fuck that chick."

" . . . what?"

"Sirs? We are ready to go down!" The dive master called.

"Fuck that chick," Nathan repeated. "Let's go see some fucking sharks."

* * *

"Mr. Offdensen, are you alive?"

A mangled groan rumbled up from Charles' throat. Holy shit, his _head_ . . . it tasted like Murderface had taken a piss in his mouth. Something was stabbing him in the face, but he recognized the vague shape of his own glasses from a lifetime of wearing corrective lenses. He lifted his head slightly to note that he was lying face down across a hotel bed.

"Are you still drunk?"

A burning started rushing up his throat.

"Trash can . . ." Charles rasped, pulling himself to the edge.

He wasn't sure if Conway had anticipated this request or if he did something magic, but a hotel trash can materialized under his mouth and Offdensen heaved messily. His glasses started to slip.

"No . . ."

The spectacles dropped, but were caught by a very quick-thinking Matthias.

"Oh God, remind me to give you a raise," Charles grunted.

"I will," Conway stated with a smile, holding up a glass of water.

The manager swished and spat into the trash can.

"The boys are fine, before you ask. Murderface went shopping, Pickles is still sleeping, Nathan and Toki are on their dive trip WITH a supernatural chaperone, and Skwisgaar went to tour the ruins of San Grevasio."

Charles took a hesitant swallow of water.

"Skwisgaar went to see ruins?"

"He said he wanted to," Matthias said with a shrug. "But the ruins of San Grevasio used to be the temple of the local fertility goddess, so I can see how it would call to him."

"Muuuhh . . . ." Charles offered, laying his head back down. "I think I'm still drunk."

"Well, you can sleep more if you want, sir. You've still got a good four hours before your ladies arrive."

"Oh good," Charles sighed, lying back down. "Wait; WHAT?"

Conway had started to leave, but stopped and looked down into the wide and slightly unfocused gaze of his boss.

"Your . . . your ladies? They'll arrive in about three hours, but it will take them another hour to get through customs."

"Th-the . . . _what_? They're coming here? Why? H-how . . . they couldn't afford to drop everything and fly to Mexico! Who paid for all this?"

" . . uh . . . . you did," Matthias said weakly. "You called them last night and invited them, then told me to see to the details."

"That's . . . Mercy couldn't just drop work; she teaches grade school!"

"As totally adorable that it is that you're dating an elementary teacher, there's a teachers' strike going on in California right now."

"But – but this is a _boys'_ vacation! I'm supposed to be hanging out with the boys! Arrgh; they're going to be pissed!"

"Well . . . . I have an idea," Conway offered.

"I'm open to suggestions."

"You and the boys have been fairly spread out this trip; why not give the girls a credit card and send them shopping during the day? Then by the time the boys are starting to get trashed and pass out, you can go find your girls and give them a little whey-hey."

"It's not all about sex," Charles growled, pulling the trash can towards himself. "Get me some orange juice and Vitamin B shots. Send a limo to the airport when the girls arrive. Have three dozen roses in the car – one red, one pink, and one white. The red ones are for Faith, the white ones are for Mercy and the pink ones are for Hope. Have some very sweet white wine in the car – maybe they won't notice I'm hung over if they're drunk, too."

"I'll see to it, sir," Conway said, heading for the door.

"Conway!" Charles called. "This friend of yours – she'll really protect Nathan and Toki?"

"I'd trust her to have my back," Matthias said.

* * *

Skwisgaar stood at the end of an ancient promenade, staring up at the lump of rock that used to be a temple.

There was something . . . . . something . . . he didn't know what there was. But there was something. And it was niggling at the back of his mind. And it wouldn't leave him alone.

But what could be here that called to him? He had only felt like this a time or two before and it had been back at home in Scandinavia. His homeland had absolutely nothing in common with this hot, tropical swamp. He almost thought he could hear whispers.

"Very lucky, sir!"

The tall Swede didn't jump, but he tore his eyes away from the middle distance and focused on the tour guide for the ruins.

"Whats?"

"You are wearing all white," the guide pointed out, gesturing to Skwisgaar's white linen getup. "The Goddess Ixchel was also goddess of the moon and water lilies . . . she liked the color white!"

"Ixchel?" Skwisgaar echoed. It was pronounced like 'Michelle' but without the 'M'. "Whats . . . whats else she was ams goddess ofs?"

* * *

The shore dive they had taken to get certified was cool. When they dropped off the dive boat and descended sixty feet down onto an enormous coral formation, Nathan felt sad. He felt sad because he looked straight down into a ten thousand foot drop off and knew that all he would ever be able to do was scratch the surface.

That . . . that kind of blew.

But this _was_ awesome. It was like being in the world's largest aquarium, only the glass was just on the other side of your eyes and you could chase the fish if you wanted. There were colorful angelfish a foot long and tiny little stripey fish that followed the divers like they had nothing better to do and a blowfish that had to be three feet long. Nathan didn't even know they got that big.

The respirator made his mouth dry, which made this throat parch, which made his stomach flip-flop. The dive master gave him a questioning thumbs-up just as Nathan tore the respirator out of his mouth and vomited into the open ocean.

In a blink, a cloud of fish swarmed up around the singer to eat the puke, which was seriously gross, but really beautiful to look at. A muffled giggle reached his ears and he realized that Toki was delighting in the sudden fish swarm, too.

Cool.

He wasn't sure he could write a song about fish eating puke, though.

Well . . . . maybe.

As the fish started to spread out again, Nathan caught sight of a large figure slipping behind a coral formation. It almost looked like a hot chick with big tits in a bikini . . . only the legs merged into a great big fin.

_Water God_ was accurate, huh?

Fucking bad _ass._

The dive master grabbed Nathan's respirator and shoved it back into his mouth. Ugh, this taste was going to be horrible until he got back to the surface, but fuck it. The lead singer pointed eagerly to a cave opening in the coral. He didn't say it out loud, but he wanted to yell 'Let's see some fucking sharks!'

* * *

Murderface had found the best restaurant on the whole island. It was perched at the top of a huge cliff on the empty side of the island. The waves pounded the cliff and sent up a cooling breeze across the open air dining room. The seafood was fresh and tasty, the beer was cheap and the underside of the roof was plastered with women's underwear and bras.

"I'm gonna have to build a vacation houshe here or shomething," he muttered. That might be kind of expensive. "Or jusht rent one," he quickly amended.

The restaurant seemed to do good business, but the bass player was still surprised when Skwisgaar loped up the steps and looked around the dining room. Spotting his fellow band member, the Swede ignored the host and plopped himself down in the chair opposite Murderface.

"Murdersface! Did joo knows whats dis islands usededs to bes?"

The bass player hadn't seen Skwisgaar this excited since they had hosted the U.S. Pornography Awards.

"Um . . . coral?"

"Whats? No; it's was de sacreds island of a fertilities goddess!" The Swede announced. "She was ams de goddess of womens and sex and babies and waters ands de moons!"

"Uh . . . . sho? I mean, that'sh kind of intereshting . . . . did she get human shacrificesh? That would be cool."

"I t'ink dey all dids arounds here. Buts! If you wanted to get sexies wit' tons of ladies, you makes de sacrifices to her! And hers ceno – shen - cyn – sacreds pool ams still opens!" Skwisgaar slapped the cheap plastic table. "I goes backs to towns and gets lots of jewelry and flowers to tosses in. You wants to comes wit'?"

"Flowersh and jewelry? That'sh really what she liked ash sacrifices?"

Skwisgaar shrugged.

"Ladies ams ladies; evens de immortal kinds. Charles probably nots lets us sacrifices a Gear anyways."

"What if we had one that wash already dead?" the bassist posed.

"Nos; de guide says dey hads to throws thems in stills alives. Dey painteds dems blue and pumped thems fulls of drugs and throwed thems ins de pool. If dey drowned, den de goddess likededs the sacrifice and if dey survived, dey brought back messages from her."

"They got to die _high_? Don't tell Picklesh; he'll volunteer."

Skwisgaar let out an uncharacteristic bark of laughter.

"Comes wit' me; we gets yous goods mojo for de ladies!"

"What makesh you think I need it?" Murderface demanded.

Skwisgaar stared at the bass player for a long, long moment, then snorted.

"All rights; stays here. I keeps it alls for myself," he murmured, heaving himself to his feet.

Murderface watched him stride across the dining room for a moment.

"Fuck! Wait for me, asshole!"


	5. Chapter 4

Nathan hung in the water, watching the marine ballet unfold before him. Wow. It was like, all graceful and shit, but totally brutal at the same time. A tinny rattle made him look over at Toki. The young Norwegian dropped his noisemaker and held up a grease-pencil slate.

'We dos sumthng?'

Nathan kicked over to his side and took the slate.

'Like what?'

Behind the dive mask, Toki's eyes looked blank for a second, then looked over at the activity happening a few meters away.

'El ca'nt et hole guy, ca'n t?'

Nathan looked over to where an eight foot long moray eel was doing it's best to swallow the dive master whole. The diver had put up a pretty good fight at first, but once the eel had chomped down on his head, things went downhill. Nathan thought about picking up the dive master's fallen spear gun, but at this point hitting the eel anywhere was just going to get the dive master stabbed, too.

'If it can get past the tank I think it's possible.'

'Hough we feyend shraks?'

'Jesus, I feel like I'm talking to Skwisgaar. Your written English is fucking awful.'

Toki scowled and flipped Nathan off. The lead singer grinned and wiped the slate clean on his dive skin sleeve.

'I still have 2,000 pounds of air left. Want to see if we can find sharks? I'm not leaving until I see a fucking shark.'

'Sharks sopozd tu slep in caves. Let's luk in caves!'

Toki let go of the slate, letting it tumble down until it hit the end of its tether. The rhythm guitarist kicked towards the nearest cave opening. Nathan turned to watch the eel choke down the dive master. Satisfied that he was completely dead, Nathan turned to follow Toki.

Something shot out of the cave, grabbed Toki and took off down into the drop off.

Nathan let out a muffled cry, but something else shot by him. It was the invisible chick from the boat; her legs merged into a big fin. She paused on the edge of the drop off and turned towards Nathan.

"Stay here!" she ordered.

Later, Nathan might have wondered how she spoke underwater and came through loud and clear, but he was too busy watching that big fin ripple and change until it resembled the moray eel that had so recently eaten the dive master. The totally-not-a-sea-witch turned and dove down into the depths.

JB swore to herself. She thought she was just here to babysit a couple of morons that were borderline post-human. She didn't know she'd be protecting them from phorcydes! What the hell would a phorcyde want with a metal guitarist anyway? Were they hungry? Why would they risk snatching a borderline post-human? If it was just coincidence, then Dethklok officially had the worst luck in the universe.

"Hey asshole!" JB yelled. "That's mine! Get your fins off!"

The phorcyde paused in its headlong flight and turned to face her. This one was a particularly fish-like creature, looking like the Creature from the Black Lagoon and Abe Sapien from the Hellboy series had spawned. Toki was struggling weakly in its grip. By the way he pawed at his ears and mask he was having trouble adjusting to the sudden change in pressure.

'Great,' JB thought. 'Even if I get him back in one piece he's going to get the bends going back up.'

The phorcyde hissed at her.

"Be gone, Fae! This one has power! He is ours now! We'll eat him and gain his power!"

"He's not for eating!" JB snarled. "Piss off!"

Toki seemed to remember his training and finally managed to equalize the pressure in his head by holding his nose and blowing it at the same time. Beneath the phorcyde, JB could see a few more of the creatures lurking forward. They looked like fearsome monsters, but Johnny Betty saw things a bit deeper. She was used to monsters and she saw how ragged the fins were, how dull the scales, how thin the bodies were. These phorcydes were starving.

On the one hand, that might make them easier to defeat, but on the other, it would make them desperate, too.

It's not like she could say anything about eating humans to survive.

The sea monster-in-training curved her now eel-like tail around in an intimidating posture.

"You can hunt here; I won't deny you the chance to eat. But you can't have _that one!_"

The two phorcydes not clutching Toki exchanged a look.

"Who are you to give us permission?" the third fish-man spat.

"This is _my_ island," JB growled. It had been just a casual statement to throw off Nathan, but what the hell; it's not like anybody else was claiming it. Johnny Betty wouldn't mind looking after a whole island, anyway. She liked this place.

"We can hunt?" One of the empty-handed phorcydes asked.

JB tried to look as regal as possible.

"Take a few divers; the current at the north end of the island is strong and dangerous and no one will question the disappearances. You can have the fish as well. Eat all the lionfish you want; they're pests here and you can use their venom."

"Lionfish!" The other phorcyde hissed in delight.

"NO!" the lead creature cried. "We will eat the post-human and gain power! Then we won't take orders from some Fae bitch!"

The phorcyde reached across and tore the mask and respirator out of Toki's mouth. The Norwegian let out a warbled scream, releasing the last of his air into the sea.

"Damn it!" JB hissed, lunging forward.

She cannoned into the fish man and used her eel tail to knock Toki away. If he had any sense he'd grab his backup respirator, drop his weights and head for the surface. Before he had a chance to prove there was more than air in his head, the phorcyde grabbed him by the ankle and slammed Toki into the coral with punishing force.

Dethklok's rhythm guitarist went limp. Weight still on, air supply still useless, he started to drift down into the depths.

"Fuck it all! Matty owes me big for this!" JB announced to no one in particular.

Phorcyde and sea serpent made a dash for Wartooth. The fish man reached him a nanosecond earlier and sank his claws into Toki's shoulders. The phorcyde opened his jaw wider than should have been possible, preparing to literally bite Toki's head off. JB readied a hard-water spell but let out a shocked scream, the magic fizzling out between her hands.

A fishing spear was sticking out of her tail.

Just barely visible high up in the water column, Nathan Explosion looked down on the scene, the dead dive master's spear gun in his grip. A muffled grunt that might have been a 'fuck!' filtered down from above.

The phorcyde ignored this and chomped down. Then his head exploded.

It surprised the other two fish people. It surprised JB. It certainly surprised the phorcyde. Once the detritus cleared, Johnny Betty could see that Toki's eyes were wide open and glowing green. Etched onto the skin around his left eye like a glowing tattoo was a pattern of spirals and dots. It might look vaguely Celtic to the casual observer, but someone who had spent a great deal of time around faeries would recognize it as a seal.

"He's . . . Marked? Ooooooh shit. Matty's not going to like this," she muttered.

Toki's eyelids drooped and then closed, taking the glow away. Once his eyes were closed, the seal on his face disappeared from view and the young Norwegian began to slip into the depths once more. One of the remaining phorcydes swam in and grabbed him.

JB started up the hard-water spell again, but this fish man swam up to her and held out Toki like an offering.

"We can hunt here? We can take humans?" it asked.

"Yes. I won't stop you. We all need to eat. Just leave any post-humans alone," JB said calmly.

The phorcyde nodded its thanks and handed Toki to her. The other phorcyde grabbed the body of their slain leader and the pair disappeared down into the darkness.

JB grabbed up Toki's spare respirator, jammed it into his mouth, then powered up towards the surface. When they reached Nathan, JB gave him a cold glare and held out her tail, still sporting its impromptu spear piercing.

"M'orry," he grunted around his respirator.

The lead singer grabbed hold of the spear shaft.

"No, the other way!" JB yelped.

It was too late; Nathan yanked the spear out backwards, tearing the barbed point through her tail once more. The sea serpent in training screamed like a dolphin being harpooned, then bit down on one of her knuckles to muffle the noise. The great thing about being underwater is no one can tell if you're crying.

Nathan had a pretty good idea she was, though. The way the invisible mermaid chick curled her tail up like a window shade and curled around Toki like she was hugging a teddy bear were pretty good clues.

"M'orry," Nathan grunted again.

This was all kinds of fucked up; invisible mermaid chick had just gotten Toki back from the fish people and Nathan had already accidently shot her, then tore up her tail again.

The invisible mermaid chick uncurled her tail, grabbed Nathan by his BCD and powered through the ocean.

"Toki needs a decompression chamber once you get back on land!" she spat. "I'm pretty sure he'll be okay in the long run, though."

Marked? Oh yeah, he'd be all right. Depending on the powers of whoever had put their seal on him, Toki Wartooth_ might_ be functionally immortal.

At least for the moment.

"There's your boat. Kindly get the fuck out of my ocean!" JB released the two men, first filling Toki's BCD.

Nathan bobbed to the surface and pulled off his mask.

"Hey, at least we didn't fuck up the reefs!" he bellowed.

Invisible mermaid chick didn't answer, just took off into the water again.

"My lord!"

Gears waved from the dive boat. Nathan waved back.

"Toki's hurt!" he thundered, grabbing his bandmate by the arm. "He needs a decompression chamber!"

* * *

"Sheventy dollarsh? Geez, that'sh kind of shteep . . ." Murderface muttered, looking down into a case of silver charms.

"For you, my friend, I make a deal!" the vendor declared.

"You ever thinks maybes you don'ts gets laids because whats you ams a cheap asshole?" Skwisgaar inquired.

The lead guitarist had just spent enough that he was personally responsible for sending three different jewelers' children to college. Six Gears trailed after him, carrying jewelry, flowers, expensive liquor and chocolates. The chocolates hadn't been specified by historical evidence, but both Skwisgaar and Murderface agreed that chicks liked chocolate.

One Gear carried Murderface's purchases, which consisted of a box of chocolates, a bouquet of flowers, a bottle of cheap tequila and a handful of silver charms.

"Fuck you, Shkwishgaar! Thish goddessh of yoursh should be grateful for anything she getsh!"

"Okays, buts don't be surprised whens all you gets ams a quickie," the lead guitarist said, looking down into the glass case. "Dat's big necklace wit' de gold and silvers togethers; I takes dat," he added, pointing.

The vendor who had been helping Murderface abandoned a fifty dollar sale for a five hundred dollar one.

"You really think throwing jewelry into a pond ish going to get ush laid?" Murderface asked. "You really need the help?"

"I don'ts needs de help, but I nots goinks to bes young and gorgeous forevers. Ones of deses days I mights has hards times, but if I hases a goddess of sexes on my sides, I mights what's nots has to worries abouts dats."

"You really believe in her, though? Religion ain't metal."

Skwisgaar fell silent for a long moment.

"Whens I was littles boy, somebodies tells me I should prays to Gods to helps my moms whats not bes a slut. So I tries dat. I tries and tries and its don't does no goods. Not'ing I asks Gods fors ever comes. So I gots ins de scrape and I asks Odin for something. And I _hears_ . . . nots withs mines ears, but you knows . . . in mines _head _I hears dat he giveses me what I wants, but I my life ams his. Ands I agrees. Ands it works." Skwisgaar paused to rub his left eye. "So, Old Gods . . . . dey works. Dey don't gives bullshit stories abouts testing and beings goods and shits. Dey just makes bargains. 'You does dis for mes, I does dis for yous.' Dey work. So I giveses Ixchel pretty flowers ands jewelries ands chocolateses. And she makeses me sexy forevers."

Murderface considered this.

"Shkwishgaar? You're fucking crazy, you know that?"

"Whatevers; fucks joo, Murderface."

Whatever else might have been said was drowned in the scream of an ambulance that hurtled down the street outside.

* * *

Charles stepped out of his room, freshly shaved and showered.

"How do I look?"

"Not hung over at all," Conway said. "Not exactly rested and bursting with _je ne sais quoi_, but not like you spent the last two hours puking."

"Oh. Breath check."

Conway leaned in as his boss huffed experimentally.

"Minty fresh," the blond said. "You know, if your women haven't seen you in three months, I don't think they'll be picky about how your seams are pressed."

"I'm . . . . I'm actually not happy about them being here at all," Charles admitted.

The pair started down the hallway to meet the limo. The Noh sisters were still at the airport, but the hired limo was bursting with flowers and wine to properly welcome them to their tropical vacation.

"Really."

"That sounds . . . . uh . . . pretty horrible . . . but . . . I'm just not sure about having them around the boys."

"Ah, you think Dethklok will be mean to them?"

"No, I don't think they'll be mean to them, just . . . . ah . . . they'll just be Dethklok."

"The boys are actually pretty nice when you get to know them," Conway offered.

"In their own way, yes," Charles sighed. "But my ladies . . . they're _ladies_."

"_Ah_," Conway said in sudden understanding.

"Mercy teaches second grade; I don't think I've ever even heard her swear. Hope is a classical pianist; she gets excited about Beethoven. Faith makes jokes about nineteenth century literature."

"Sir, your ladies also live in the real world. And I'm assuming you have sealed the deal, so they aren't exactly blushing virgins either, right?"

"True."

"They've seen Dethklok on TV and stuff, so I think they'll know what to expect."

"Good point."

Conway opened his mouth again, but before he could speak both his and Charles' cell phones rang. The two men pulled out the phones, put them to their ears, then exchanged alarmed looks.

"I'll go to the decompression chamber!" Charles declared. "You meet my ladies at the airport and give them my regrets!"

"Are you –"

"Yes, I'm sure! Go, now!" Charles snapped his fingers and a car pulled up to the door.

The manager leapt inside and the driver tore off towards town. Matthias gaped like a fish, but before he could comment, JB appeared at his side, wet, bedraggled and bleeding from a gash in her leg.

"You owe me so fucking much," she growled. "Is there a bar in that limo?"

* * *

"Nathan! Nathan, what happened?" Charles asked, running up.

Nathan turned away from watching the staff adjust the decompression chamber.

"Charles. Oh, dude! We went diving, but there was this chick on board and only I could see her and she said it was because I was close to water or something and we got into the water and I threw up and then a fucking eel ate the dive master and then Toki went into a cave to look for sharks and fucking _fish people_ grabbed him but the invisible chick went after them – she was a mermaid then – she went after them and I tried to help but I stabbed her with a spear gun and I thought we were fucked, but she brought Toki back anyway and said he needed a decompression chamber, but I didn't fuck up the reefs like she asked. Then we came here. The end."

Charles stared at his front man for a long moment. Sadly, knowing what he did about the way the world really worked, that story made perfect sense. He wondered if he should worry about that.

"How's Toki doing?"

"He came to on the boat, but then his joints started hurting him real bad, so they brought him here." Nathan pointed to a large chamber that looked like nothing more than a small submarine. "They say he'll have to be in there for three hours."

Charles rushed to the decompression chamber and peered in a glass porthole. Toki was sitting on a thin bench wearing a dive skin unzipped to his navel. He had some gashes on the side of his face and the whites of his eyes were completely bloodshot. That puzzled Charles for a second until he realized Toki had ruptured the blood vessels in his eyes from the change in pressure.

When Toki saw his manager through the glass, he waved cheerfully. Charles waved back.

"Fish people?" He asked.

"Yeah, fish people. And a mermaid. An invisible one. I could see her, though."

"I think I need to have a word with my assistant."

"Toki Wartooth is Marked?" Matthias asked coldly.

"Yeah. By someone fairly powerful; the seal blew the head clean off a phorcyde. Also, I think I claimed the island," JB said, mixing up an impromptu margarita from the mini bar.

"Marked by whom?" Matthias asked.

"Um . . . . my Faerie isn't that great . . ." JB hedged.

Matthias sighed through his nose.

"You can stop trying to be nice. Phooka _is _Toki's fairy godfather. It only makes sense that he Marked Toki when he made the investment."

"Well, like you said, Toki's an investment . . ."

"He never Marked _me_ when I was mortal."

"Um . . . he couldn't, could he? You had power over him."

"Could you stop being so goddamned reasonable? It's very annoying. And don't bleed on the upholstery."

"Piss off! I was just supposed to be babysitting some idiots! Not going into battle! The phorcydes never touched me; _this_ is from Nathan shooting me with a spear gun! He could see me, by the way! You said they were mortals, not post-human!" JB said, slurping her drink.

"They are mortals! Just –"

"Nathan's borderline post-human! And Toki's Marked, that bumps him up, too! The media calls them 'gods' all the time, you think that's not going to affect things? You and I both know it's all about belief."

Matthias went quiet.

"Anyway. I'm going to hit up the cenote and soak _this_ out." JB gestured to her leg.

"Mmm. Thank you, by the way."

"No problem, godly one," JB said, saluting.

The limo pulled up to the Cozumel airport. A little shimmer went over JB as she worked Glamour on herself. A Gear opened the door for Matthias, and JB slipped out behind him unseen. She limped over to a nearby puddle of water and teleported through it.

Matthias Conway straightened his linen suit and lifted his chin.

"Right. If it's time to play, then it's time to play," he murmured.


	6. Chapter 5

"Ladies!" Matthias cried, holding his arms open wide. "This way, please!"

The Noh sisters were a set of identical triplets that had the haggard sort of look common to anyone who'd spent the last eight hours flying. Gears hurried forward to take their bags.

"My name is Matthias Conway; I am Charles Offdensen's personal assistant. He sends his regrets. He was on the way here to greet you himself but Toki was in an accident and needed to be taken to a decompression chamber."

"Oh my gosh! Is Toki going to be okay?" The sister in red gasped.

"We think he'll be just fine," Matthias said.

"Oh good," the red-clad woman sighed.

"That's a relief," said the one in green.

"Very fortuitous," said the one in blue, stretching. "It will give us a chance to take a shower and change."

"Everything worked out!" The red sister agreed.

"You . . . you haven't seen Mr. Offdensen in three months, he splits to babysit one of the band and you say it all works out?" Matthias echoed in disbelief.

"He's in the _hospital_," The sister in red stressed, getting into the limo. "That changes things just a little. Oh! Roses!"

"The band is like Charles' other family," The sister in green said, climbing into the car. "What kind of heartless bitches would we be if we got mad because his other family needed him? Oh, he remembered our favorite colors!"

"That's a very expansive view," Matthias said, noting the 'heartless bitches'. Charles' ladies never swore, huh?

"If we got mad about things like that, our relationship never would have lasted this long. When you have an unorthodox situation like ours, you have to be practical," the blue clad sister informed him coolly. She followed her sisters into the limo.

"Good point," Matthias said, climbing in behind them.

The triplets were gushing over the bouquets of roses procured earlier. Let's see, the red ones were for Faith, the white ones were for Mercy and the pink ones were for Hope. If everyone had their favorite color of roses, that put Faith in the blue dress, Mercy in red and Hope in green. Shouldn't Mercy have red roses . . ? Never mind; it wasn't important.

"Oh how _nice_ . . . I totally needed this. It will be such a great break!" Mercy was saying. "Wish I had more time to prep for a swimsuit, though."

She squeezed her love handle to illustrate.

"Oh me too!" Hope agreed.

"Oh shut up!" Mercy and Faith said in the same voice.

"You're always skinny," Mercy groused.

"You're too skinny; it's not healthy," Faith offered.

At first Matthias wanted to roll his eyes and stress that they were all identical, but now that he looked at them, Hope was noticeably thinner than the other two. She looked younger, too. Odd.

Mercy was padded a little better, but most of it was in her breasts and hips, like some old-timey pinup from an era when models were still allowed to eat.

Faith was a happy medium between the two, a little curvier than Hope, but thinner than Mercy.

Well, even identical siblings weren't _completely_ identical. There were bound to be some differences, though . . . actually it was kind of funny to think of Charles with bubbly little Hope. He'd look like every sad middle-aged man fighting against time with a woman half his age.

"I can't wait to meet Charles' boys," Mercy said. "I've heard so much about them. I hope they appreciate how much he dotes on them."

Charles _doting_ on Dethklok? That was . . . .well, actually he _did_, but it was just a very motherly way to say it. It was doubly funny to hear Mercy say because half the band was probably older than her.

"Mr. Conway? Has Charles been doing well?" Faith asked. "It's not like him to take last-minute vacations."

Faith was the sort to notice little things and worry about them. She seemed like a perfect match for Charles . . . oh now Matty could see it: Every sister matched a side of Charles' personality. Faith was analytical and pragmatic, Mercy was the motherly type to Charles' paternal leanings and Hope . . . well Hope probably meshed up with some side of Charles Matthias wasn't privy to.

"He actually started having heart palpitations a couple of weeks ago," Matthias admitted. "Doctor's orders were no stress, booze, or coffee so Dethklok dragged him along on vacation."

"And how's that going?" Faith asked sharply.

Matthias considered the situations his boss had been exposed to in the last few days.

"I don't think I've seen him drinking coffee."

Faith sighed through her nose.

"Don't worry; I'm sure we can work the kinks out of him," Hope said with a wicked grin.

"I think I'd be stressed if a doctor told me I couldn't drink on vacation," Mercy offered. "Oh hey, look; wine!"

"Mercy, take it easy," Faith ordered.

Matthias snorted. The triplets were like a whole family all on their own: Mercy the sweet mom, Hope the wild kid and . . . Faith . . . the . . .

Matthias straightened slightly as another pattern appeared to him. Wild Kid, Sweet Mom, Stern Matriarch.

Maiden, Mother, and Crone.

Holy shit. Did Charles do that on – no, no you'd have to have an eye out for these things to notice, but damn, it was right there. And for the four of them to hook up together? That was . . . he couldn't let this go.

"Mr. Offdensen will be really happy to see you," Matthias announced. "You three mean a lot to him. He was just talking with the boys yesterday about how serious things were between you four."

"Really?" Hope said with a big grin.

"I probably shouldn't be telling you this, but there was talk of babies . . ." The assistant offered in a singsong voice. That wasn't a _total_ lie. Children were mentioned.

Mercy sucked in a deep, excited breath.

"Mr. Offdensen's just over the moon that he's finally found a family. Well . . . as 'over the moon' as he gets," Matthias continued.

This coaxed a small smile from Faith.

Right there; that spark of love in each of their hearts! Being who he was, Matthias could see it perfectly. He could see it and mold it to his own purposes.

"How could he resist you?" Matthias stated. "Faith, the very picture of fraternal love, watching over her sisters and keeping the family together . . . it's just what a Matriarch does. Even your name . . . Faith; the unwavering belief in a certain person. And what is that but love?"

"I . . guess you could look at it that way," Faith said, taken aback by the sudden intensity.

"Mercy: a disposition of kindness, forgiveness, and compassion. Everything you'd expect in motherly love. Everything you could want in a sweet lady. Everything that goes along with the ideal of femininity. Everything that goes with ideal love."

"Um . . . I'm not some perfect doll," Mercy said.

"And Hope," Matthias said, ignoring this. "A belief in promise for the future; optimism that the world is not as horrific as we all know it to be. A love of life. A goddamn incarnation of Persephone herself!"

Hope stared at Matthias for a long time.

"Mr. Conway, you're freaking us out," she announced.

"Oh, don't worry, ladies," Matthias said. "You won't remember any of this."

The small man suddenly reared back as if he were drawing a bow. Almost as an afterthought, a complicated compound bow flickered into existence in his hands. Three arrows that seemed to be put together from gold and light rested against the bow string.

The three mortal women barely had time tense before he released the bow.

* * *

A cenote was actually nothing more than a sinkhole.

Water eroded limestone caves from beneath and the rock collapsed down into the pool. The Ancient Maya had decided these natural wells were portals to the Other Side. Some of them were dedicated to certain gods and sacrifices, both living and inanimate objects, were thrown in to appease the gods.

First it should be said that every member of the Mayan pantheon was now dead. The South American gods demanded blood because that was what they ate. While other gods had received blood sacrifices because that was the ultimate price that could be paid, the Mayan gods had demanded blood because that was their sustenance. When Mexico was conquered by Spaniards and pagan sacrifices were outlawed, the gods of the Maya had starved to death.

The people remained and the ruins still existed, but the gods were gone.

However.

Like a house haunted by the memory of a horrid murder, the ruins of the ancient temples held onto the memory of power. To this day, people could feel the power that had once been present.

That was what brought Johnny Betty to the cenote that had once been devoted to the goddess Ixchel. Being a water elemental herself, a sacred water source of any kind would help her recharge. Ixchel had been goddess of many things, including water, so her cenote was especially helpful to a tired sea serpent-in-training.

JB lay in the shallow water at the bottom of the cenote, feeling the remnant power filter into her. She had stopped on her way to San Grevasio to grab a bite and change her clothes so her physical body was taken care of before she could tap into metaphysical sources. A white cotton dress floated in the clear water around her body.

Somehow, wearing white to San Grevasio just seemed . . . . right.

The water was cool and the sun filtered down from above. JB was nearly dozing when a flower floated down and landed on her cheek. The dark-skinned woman twitched, dislodging the bloom. She nearly went back to sleep when another flower landed in her lap. JB dragged her eyes open reluctantly. Flowers were floating down from above.

That was kind of . . . why would that happen?

Something more substantial than a flower splashed into the water next to her. Still groggy, JB felt around on the rock bottom of the pool and came up with a silver ring. Oh how pretty. It looked kind of small, but it would probably fit on her pinky. JB reached over and fitted the ring onto her opposite pinky finger. Nice! For some reason, this little ring made her feel better.

There was another splash next to her. JB rolled up onto one elbow and lifted a beautiful gold and silver necklace out of the water. Oh! Oh, that was even prettier! But where were these –

"Thish ish fucking shtupid!" A voice bellowed.

JB tilted her head back and stared up at the surface.

"Joo already comeses all de ways outs here! T'rows in dems in! I does its!" A second voice ordered.

Something glittered in the sunlight as it started to tumble down. JB leaned forward and caught it awkwardly. It was a thick silver bracelet.

"I'm not going to washte all thish shtuff! I paid good money for it!"

"Whats de fucks joo does wit' ladies' jewelries? Ixchel ams de only ones whats appreciated shits dat cheap!"

"Fucking fine!"

A bouquet of flowers and a handful of silver charms were hurled forcefully into the cenote. JB put up one arm to shield herself from being pelted by bracelet hangings.

"You're fucking crazy, Shkwisgaar!" The sound of someone stomping forcefully away was clearly heard even at the bottom of the sinkhole.

"Fines! Fucks off! All joos fucks off! I makeses de sacrifices myself!"

More shuffling and footsteps as more people moved away. JB looked down at the pieces of jewelry in her hands. Aside from how pretty they were, it actually felt good to touch them. They were kind of . . . tingly. They were sacrifices? To whom?

Johnny Betty gathered her powers and used the water in the cenote to propel herself up to the surface level. She settled in a sitting position on the edge of the rock, the lovely jewelry sacrifices cradled in her hands.

Standing across the cenote was a beautiful blond man – oh, it was Skwisgaar Skwigelf! He had a pile of jewelry boxes and bottles of liquor next to him. He was staring at JB with his mouth open.

The water elemental held out the jewelry pieces that had been so recently hurled into the pit.

"Are these for me?" she asked with a flirty smile.


	7. Chapter 6

"I'm's _bored_," Toki whined. "I wantses to goes out _no-ow_."

"Toki, you . . . ah . . . have to wait until the decompression process is finished or you'll . . . uh . . . be hurting again," Charles informed his charge through the glass. "You only have fifteen minutes left."

"But dere ams not'ings to does in here! I'm's _bored_! I bets Nat'ans boreds toos!"

Charles looked at the front man. At his request, the staff at the treatment center had supplied him with paper and a pen. Nathan had been writing ever since. Occasionally he'd read back over his work and mutter 'Fuck yeah' and head bang a few times. If nothing else, this trip would be good for a few songs. No doubt they'd center around fish murder and invisible mermaids, but . . . well, there might be a _Dethwater II_ in the works.

Charles pulled out his Dethphone and dialed his assistant.

"Have Legal pull out the briefs from the _Dethwater_ trial and brush up," he ordered as soon as Conway picked up. "Also, a word about your 'friend' that was supposed to be watching –"

"Just to let you know, sir, she is plenty pissed," Matthias cut in. "I gave the impression she'd be babysitting some accident-prone gentleman, not defending them from . . . _harm_."

The gentle stress on 'harm' clued Charles in that there were people in earshot on Conway's end of the line.

"Fish people?" the manager muttered into his phone.

"Phorcydes, sir. They aren't native to the area. JB says Dethklok officially has the worst luck in the universe to run into them here."

"Tell me something I don't know. Where are you?"

"We're in a car on the way to the decompression center."

"'We'?" Charles prompted.

"We're gonna go t' Margaritaville after Toki gets outta th' thing!" Pickles yelled. "Tell 'im!"

"Pickles wants to go to Margaritaville after Toki gets released," Matthias reported.

"Tell him Shkiwsgaar'sh gone fucking nutsh!" Murderface bellowed.

"Murderface says Skwisgaar's gone fucking nuts," Conway added.

"I don't think any of the boys can qualify on the mental status of the others," Charles sighed.

"We're pulling up to the door now, sir. We'll see you inside."

"Very good."

Charles hung up and turned back to the porthole. Toki was leaning against the glass with his face smashed into the side and a bratty scowl on his face.

"As soon as you get out, we'll . . . ah . . . go to Margaritaville," Charles told him.

"What ams dat?"

"It's a restaurant," Charles answered. "Pickles and Murderface are coming in right now – I forgot to ask if Skwisgaar was with them."

"Charles!"

The manager turned towards the shout. An adorable vision in a green sundress was running across the room towards him. Charles had a suddenly flashback to his nine month sabbatical.

He had gone on a trip down to Carmel with the triplets. Feeling unexpectedly emotional, Charles had bared his soul. He admitted his feelings for the trio and told the sisters that there was no way he could choose between them. Faith had dragged the others further down the beach for a huddle. Charles was sure all chances were officially shot, but Hope had come running towards him with a big grin. At the time, he had thought it fortunate that at least one of the sisters had a thing for scarred up robots. She practically knocked him over in a hug and they had their first kiss on that cold, rocky beach.

With a memory like that, Charles could do little but hold out his arms and greet Hope with a deep, impassioned kiss. When he surfaced a few minutes later, the first thing he noticed was Toki staring at him intently from the porthole. For some reason, Charles blushed hotly.

"Awwwww, dat's so cute!" Pickles declared from the door.

Pickles, Murderface, and Conway stood in the doorway as Mercy and Faith followed their sister at a more sedate pace.

"You need t' dock Mr. Humphries' pay or sumthing, 'cause he was gonna leave 'em at the hotel. I told him you'd wanna see your chicks as soon as possible!" the drummer declared.

Conway gave a helpless shrug.

"Hope, you always Bogart the first kiss!" Mercy declared, hugging Charles around her sister.

"That's because I'm willing to run for it," Hope informed her.

"Ah . . . er . . . thank you, Pickles," Charles muttered.

Faith slid up to Charles' free side and snaked her arms around his waist. Without thinking about it, the manager slid into 'triple hug' mode: An arm around a woman on each side and both hands resting on the back of the woman in the middle.

Charles _was_ happy to see the triplets, but . . . Toki was staring at him. Murderface was staring at him. Nathan was _glaring _at him. The only one who looked happy with the quad was Pickles.

Mercy tugged on Charles' shirt.

"Kiss, please," she requested, stretching up on her tiptoes.

Charles stared down at his lover, cast a long look around at the boys, then turned Mercy so that he was between her and the boys. _Then _he leaned down and gave her a quick kiss.

"Aww, look; he's all shy now," Pickles observed.

The manager straightened with cheeks nearly as red as Mercy's dress. This was not how he envisioned introducing his lovers to Dethklok. In his mind it was a tightly controlled affair scheduled sometime after the heat death of the universe.

"Oh, what's was dat?"

Charles looked over at the porthole, where Toki was giving him a disapproving look. This was a disaster; he should have known better than to bring the girls around Dethklok! They had a very simple grasp of the world; new information had to be broken down to tiny little pieces to make sure it would fit in their heads! They –

"What ams she; yous _mother_? Giveses her a reals kiss," the rhythm guitarist ordered.

"Ah . . . Toki—" Charles began.

"Dat one gotted a real kiss," Toki said, pointing to Hope. "I sawed tongue."

"Jesus, Toki!" Nathan snorted.

"Yeah, c'mon, give her a real kiss!" Pickles cried, getting into the spirit. "Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!"

Toki took up the chant, as did Nathan, who was enjoying watching Charles squirm. Murderface started yelling 'Fight! Fight!' but odds were he just got a little confused. Still red, Charles gathered Mercy in his arms and gave her a proper kiss. The band showed approval with a few whistles and hoots.

"Satisfied, boys?" Charles asked, coming up for air.

"Now hers," Toki ordered, pointing to Faith.

Charles ducked his head.

"Has anyone seen Skwisgaar?"

* * *

"I bringses you beaut-see-fuls jewels ands loveseslies flowers ands tastys chocolates," Skwisgaar murmured, draping silver necklaces around JB's throat. "I giveses yous tributes. I askses your blessings."

Johnny Betty was practically drunk on the heady feeling of being worshipped. This was better than her first experience with magic. This was better than tapping into the boundless power of water. The jewelry Skwisgaar continued to place on her arms, neck and wrists filled her power.

"Why . . . why are you asking me?" she asked.

She wasn't anybody special. Well, she was an immortal, but as immortals went, she was the new kid on the block. She hadn't done anything to warrant being worshipped, had she? Well, she had saved Toki . . . . kind of. But it was a little quick for Skwisgaar to have found out, bought tribute and brought it to her. How would he have known she would be here, anyway?

Skwisgaar took a long look at the exotic beauty soaking up his sacrifices.

"Why woulds I nots asks yous?" He murmured. "I loves ladies and I wants to loves ladies forevers. If I gets to bes an old mans I mights has troubles, so I asks for your blessings, Ixchel."

The lead guitarist kissed the back of her hand.

JB blinked. Ixchel?

"Oh, I'm not –"

Why exactly _couldn't _she be Ixchel? Ixchel was dead! She had passed on and left behind her temple ruins, her island, her reefs, her cenote . . . JB could step right into her shoes! Ixchel had been a goddess of water; JB was a water elemental. That wasn't much, but it was a starting point! JB had the breasts to pull off a fertility goddess; no problem! The phorcydes and Dethklok thought she was mistress of Cozumel already, so what the hell? There wasn't much in the way of worship, but if she got the occasional Skwisgaar, it would be enough to eek out a living!

" – as powerful as I once was," JB finished, dropping her gaze. "My temple is in ruins and you are the first to bring sacrifices in . . . longer than I can remember."

Skwisgaar settled on the ledge next to her and kissed the back of her hand again.

"I knows you still hases de power," he murmured. "I knows a blessings from yous woulds goes longers than anyt'ing else I coulds do."

Before JB could answer, Skwisgaar began to trail kisses up her arm, murmuring softly to her in Swedish. Oh man . . . those kisses . . . on top of the power tingle from the jewelry . . . that was . . . was Skwisgaar post-human, too? Because Johnny Betty had sex before; not a lot, but she had some experience and holy shit!

"Justs touches me wit' your powers," Skwisgaar breathed. "Dat's ams alls I asks."

JB turned towards him to say she'd do her best but somehow they ended up kissing. The faux goddess wasn't sure exactly how that happened. One minute the beautiful Swede was trailing pecks up her arm like a cheesy old cartoon, the next they were locked together at the mouth, their tongues wrestling and mating.

Holy crap, what a kisser!

JB had heard stories about Skwisgaar before of course and she thought the countless women he slept with were stupid to chase after him, but now she understood! Wow! She had sex that wasn't as good as this kiss! It would just . . . it would be a really good idea to just lay back and spread her legs. Imagine the pleasure he could bring her then!

Maybe he'd . . . w-wait . . . there was a reason JB hadn't had a lot of sexual experience. What was it again? Johnny Betty realized with a start that her higher thoughts had shut down somewhere along the line. Skwisgaar had moved his mouth to her throat and one hand was cupping and massaging her breast.

Wait . . . no, there was a fucking good reason JB couldn't have sex with baseline humans! She had once and she was never cleaning blood out of those places again!

Skwisgaar yelped in pain as Johnny Betty fisted a hand in his hair and pulled him away from her.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I truly am. I'll give you my blessing, Skwisgaar Skwigelf. But that's all you can have."

"Buts-"

"Nathan Explosion already wounded me today. That's all of Dethklok I care to cross."

JB's expression softened and she relaxed her grip to place a chaste kiss on Skwisgaar's lips.

"Maybe one day. But not today, Skwisgaar."

Before the guitarist could protest further, his goddess dissolved into seawater. She splashed down the inside of the cenote, her new jewelry rattling and ringing as it bounced down the stone wall.

* * *

"What exactly happened?" Charles asked.

"Exactly what Nathan said," Matthias reported. "Some phorcydes grabbed Toki and were planning on eating him, but my friend intervened. Nathan stabbed her in the tail with a spear gun, so she's feeling a little ripped off in this venture."

"Understandable," Charles sighed. "Were the girls mad that I didn't pick them up at the airport?"

"Actually, no. They were very understanding. They're . . . they're pretty special ladies. You should hang on to them."

Charles gave his assistant a _look_.

"What? I appreciate a good love story!"

"Then why, exactly did you bring them to the decompression center?"

"_I_ didn't. Pickles saw them in the lobby and recognized them from the picture you showed him. He insisted on bringing them along. Anyway, it's not so bad. They seem to be getting along pretty well."

"I distinctly recall not asking you, Conway," Charles stated. "Oh, here's Skwisgaar."

Skwisgaar stalked up to the restaurant entrance, his face tight and drawn.

"Hello, Skwisgaar," Charles offered. "We've . . . ah . . . saved you a seat. I . . . uh . . . I believe Toki ordered you . . . . uh . . . something to drink."

Skwisgaar continued past his manager and into the restaurant. He paused to look around. Dethklok's table was easy to find. The band had claimed a table on the jetty over the water and forced the waitstaff to clear the rest of the tables off of the jetty.

Skwisgaar stalked up to Nathan and glowered down at his lead singer.

"Nat'ans, cans yous stands up for a seconds, please?"

Nathan blinked up at the lanky Swede for a second.

"Uh . . . sure."

Nathan stood up in time to receive a punch in the nose.

"Alls yous fucking faults! I coulds has has sexs wit' an actual _goddess_! Ans actual _goddess!_ Buts yous hads to goes stabs hers ins de leg! She no wantses to fucks wit' Dethklok! Fuckses yous, Nat'an!"

The Swede paused, shaking with fury. Then his expression crumpled and he curled up around the hand he had used to hit Nathan.

"Owwws . . ."

"What the fuck, Skwisgaar?" Nathan inquired.

"I saws her," Skwisgaar wheezed. "Ixchel, de goddess of de island. We mades out, but she's blowed mes off after I gets to seconds base. She saids yous had stabbed her today and she nots wants to fuck wit' Dethklok anymore."

"Oh. Oh. Sorry," Nathan muttered. "Sit down, we're going to eat."

The lead singer helped his fuming friend into a seat.

"You're telling me the goddessh actually showed up?" Murderface said doubtfully.

"She dids! She was beautiful and darks likes de Maya and she comes up outs of de cen-san-cir – de sacreds pool and says she giveses my blessings but dat's what all I gets. And she ams mads at you, Nat'ans."

"I'm scared," Nathan growled, looking at the menu. "What's she goddess of?"

"Sex!" Skwisgaar and Murderface said in the same voice.

Nathan looked up briefly.

"So what?" He muttered. "Who cares about some love goddess—"

"Nots loves. Sex," Skwisgaar stressed. "Mens useds to prays to hers for good mojo, sos dere dick never letted them down whens dey needed its."

Nathan considered this carefully. Charles came back to the table and took his seat next to the triplets. They each had a large glass of a tropical drink in front of them. Faith's drink was blue, Mercy's was red, and Hope's was green.

"Pickles ordered us colored coded drinks," Faith said with a smile. "I think he's taken a shine to us."

"I'm glad he likes you," Charles said with a small smile.

Pickles stood, weaving slightly and banged his knife against his glass. He managed to hit it on the third try.

"I'd like t' propose a toast t' th' happy couple!" he announced, gesturing at Charles and the triplets. "I mean . . . I mean . . . th' happy several. Charlesh is our buddy and we're all glad he's gaht someone . . . . several someones . . . to play with his dick on a regular basis."

Charles pulled off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. He was vaguely aware of Hope and Mercy's shoulders shaking with mirth.

"So here's t' . . . . um . . . . you guys . . . . . stick wit' Charles. Even if he can't keep up with ya in bed, he's got lotsa money. Cheers."

There was a belated chorus of 'Cheers', more than a few snickers and everyone drank.

"Whoa!" Nathan bellowed. "I stabbed the Goddess of Boners? Oh . . . oh . . . oh that's not good."


	8. Chapter 7

"No, you don't have to fucking worry about it, becaushe it'sh retarded," Murderface growled. "There'sh no such thing ash a Boner Goddessh."

"Yeeeah, 'cause Boner Goddesses are always dudes," Pickles offered, slowly sliding off of his lounge chair. "'N . . 'n . . 'n they always have huge boners."

"Thanks Pickles, that really makes me feel better," Nathan growled.

The band had made it back to the hotel in one piece. Skwisgaar had immediately rounded up as many females as he could find and headed back to his suite. Charles had excused himself and retired to his own suite with the triplets in tow. Toki had taken the painkillers prescribed at the decompression center and gone to bed. That left Pickles, Nathan, and Murderface sulking around the pool.

"Hey, maybe that'sh why she wouldn't fuck Shkwisgaar!" Murderface declared. "She's actually a dude!"

"You just said she didn't fucking exist, Murderface! Pick a side!" Nathan thundered. "I totally saw her today, but I thought she was a fucking water goddess! I didn't know she was a fucking sex goddess!"

"Sn – sn – sn – a fuckin' sex goddess . . ." Pickles tittered. "That's like, repetitive."

"Hey, I know! _I _threw shome shit in that shacred pit, too! Sho she owesh me a fuck! If she doesh exisht, I should be able to get laid!" The bassist rolled out of his lounge chair, staggered a little, and took off in search of a receptive female.

"Y'know . . . I hate t' say it, but Murderface . . . Murderface has a point," Pickles pointed out.

"Huh?" Nathan grunted.

"If this Boner Goddess really is pissed at you, then you shouldn't be able t' git it up, right?" Pickles muttered. "So . . . like, go pick up a chick. See if your dick works."

Nathan considered this. It made sense to him. He hoped like hell he wouldn't end up naked with a hot chick going 'This has never happened before, but I pissed off this Boner Goddess . . .' But if he didn't try; how was he supposed to know?

The front man scanned the pool area. Skwisgaar had already gathered up most of the hot chicks . . . and the not-so-hot chicks . . . and chicks Nathan wouldn't touch with a ten-foot-pole. Pickings were pretty slim. He was about to give up when he noticed a woman entering the pool. She must have just gotten here because there was no way Skwisgaar would have left her alone. She waded into the warm, shallow water in a tiny bikini, lit from below by the pool lights. Nathan usually liked women with bigger tits, but the tight little body she was sporting made up for it.

"Be right back . . . . maybe," he growled.

"Good luck!" Pickles called.

Nathan lowered himself into the other end of the pool and swam towards his target. She was splashing and playing in the water like a kid; even going so far as doing handstands on the pool bottom. Huh, usually hot chicks didn't like to get their hair and makeup all messed up. But it was cool; this was just a test case anyway. Nathan could get into it. A tiny little woman like that made him feel all big and powerful. When he had to be careful he didn't hurt her it was like . . . kind of exciting. Oh yeah, he was starting to not believe in the Boner Goddess already.

The bikini babe surfaced, slicked water out of her face and looked startled to see the metal god so close.

"Hi," Nathan purred in his flirtiest tone. "I'm Nathan."

"Um . . . I know," she said with a puzzled smile.

"Oh. Right. You wanna come back to my room?"

The look of confusion deepened.

"What for?" she asked cautiously.

"Uh . . ." What kind of question was that? Wasn't it fucking obvious? "Y'know . . . hang out . . . whatever."

Nathan made his intents clear with a light stroke of her arm.

"Uh . . ." the woman said. "Uh . . . . I – I don't think Charles would like that."

Nathan blinked.

"Why the fuck would Charles care if we fucked?" He asked. Ten seconds later, realization dawned. "Oh! OH! Oh, you're one of his chicks!"

"Hope," the woman supplied.

". . . . Ugh. Why do I feel like I just hit on my fucking _stepmother_?" Nathan inquired.

"I didn't know you had a stepmother," Hope said.

"I don't, but if I had one, this is what it would feel like. Hey Pickles! The fucking Boner Goddess exists!"

"You talked to her for five fuckin' seconds, dood!" Pickles called back. "An' you're standing in a pool! Give it a sec!"

"She's from Charles' harem!" Nathan called back, starting to wade back towards the drummer.

Pickles cackled briefly.

"Oh dood! Hey, don't tell Charles on us, okay?" he called to Hope.

"Actually, Nathan just didn't recognize me; it's cool. What are you guys doing?" she asked, following the lead singer.

"Ah, Pickles! Don't say anything! Now she wants to talk to us!" Nathan hissed in a stage whisper.

"Jesus, Nat'an, don't be rude!" Pickles chided. "Hey um . . . . I can't see what color you're wearin' . . . which one are you?"

"I'm Hope," Hope offered again.

"Seriously, why do you color-coordinate your clothes? Most triplets stop doing that when they're like, _five_," Nathan growled, climbing out of the pool.

"It's easier to sort our laundry this way," Hope stated with a shrug. "If we didn't live together we probably wouldn't bother."

"Hey, why aren't you up with Charles?" Pickles asked.

"Faith won the coin toss and Mercy's taking a bubble bath. So I thought I'd grab a swim before my turn came up."

"Coin toss? What coin toss?" Nathan asked.

"Well, y'know . . . to see who gets to get reacquainted with Charles first."

Nathan and Pickles stared at her for a long time.

"Oh my fuckin' Gahd . . ." Pickles muttered, trying not to laugh out loud.

"You _flip a fucking coin_ to see who gets to fuck him first?" Nathan thundered.

"Oh my fuckin' Gahd!"

"Charles won't choose; he says he doesn't want to show favoritism to anybody. We have to work it out on our own." Hope pushed away from the wall. The lone triplet started to tread water in front of the two metal gods. "When we all lived together we had a schedule and we each got him for a whole night. I . . .um . . . I really miss that."

"A fucking coin . . . I don't know if that's hysterical or fucking sad," Nathan growled. "Doesn't that piss you off?"

"What? The coin toss? We used to do rock, paper, scissors, but there were cheating issues."

"_Rock, paper, scissors!_" Pickles squealed, curling up on his lounge chair.

"Uhhggg . . ." Nathan sighed. "I mean, doesn't it bother you that Charles is upstairs right now fucking one of your sisters?"

"No. My sisters need love, too."

Nathan stared down at her.

"Okay, what the fuck is wrong with you?" he demanded.

"There's nothing wrong with me!" Hope said, starting to get irritated. "We're just . . . a little different in how we love! If I was a lesbian you wouldn't have any problems with it, would you?"

"Hot lesbian triplets? _Fuck, no_!" Pickles blurted.

"So what's the big deal if I share a boyfriend? If it doesn't bother me, why should it bother you?"

"'Cause it's wrong!" Nathan thundered.

"Why?"

"'Cause Charles is better than that!" the front man returned without hesitation. "He shouldn't get distracted by the fact that there's three of you! He deserves the fucking best, not the top three runners up!"

"Nathan."

It wasn't a shout and shouldn't have carried so clearly, especially not with Nathan Explosion bellowing like a water buffalo. Further impossibility revealed Charles standing on the third-floor private balcony to his suite. The CFO was bare-chested, his hair rumpled by the wind and other activities, but he still radiated an air of complete and total authority.

"Oooo! Nate, you're busted!" Pickles hissed.

"Hope, I think you'd better come back up," Charles announced.

Hope immediately stroked for the side of the pool and climbed out. A Gear seemed to materialize by her side with a dry towel. Charles watched her walk into the lobby, then went back into his suite without another word.

"Did he look pissed?" Nathan asked.

"Dood, he's upstairs gettin' lucky with a set of triplets. I'm sure he doesn't care that you don't like his girlfriend."

Across the courtyard, someone else took notice of the exchange.

"I'm starting to think you're right about them being post-human," Matthias allowed, sipping his drink.

The assistant was officially off-duty. The band was corralled, Mr. Offdensen was ensconced for the night, and the Gears were on standing orders. The disguised immortal sat at one of the poolside bar tables in a light blue speedo and nothing else. This state of undress revealed a simplistic tattoo of a red heart with an arrow through it on his left shoulder.

"I mean, I suppose I'm a bit desensitized to it since I'm around so many immortals. But you see little tells if you watch for it. Offdensen's voice shouldn't have carried that far that clearly. And Dethklok practically worships him; have you noticed that?"

"Matty, how gay are you?"

Matthias tore his gaze away from the two musicians by the pool to look over at his companion. JB was hunched in her seat, slowly rubbing her legs together with a wretched look on her face.

"Excuse me?" Matty inquired coldly.

"Don't give me that look! I know lots of gay guys with kids they made the old fashioned way. I'm asking if you'd ever consider having sex with a female."

" . . . how would you feel if I asked you if you'd ever consider having sex with a woman?"

"Do I get to pick the woman?" JB asked. "'Cause if it was Gabrielle Reece, hellz yeah."

"G – Gabrielle – the volleyball player?"

"That woman is a golden goddess. She could do anything to me."

Matthias considered this carefully.

"Is this an indirect inquiry as to whether I would be interested in having sex with you?" He asked.

"Yeah," JB grunted. "'Cause since Skwisgaar threw his sacrifices in my sacred pool I've been so horny I can't see straight."

"Is that a euphemism for something?"

"No," the impromptu goddess growled. "_Unfortunately._"

"Just out of curiosity, why didn't you just fuck him? He totally wanted to; the man is a whore," Matty said. "Not that . . . anyone would need to be a whore to want to have sex with you . . ."

"I would have killed him," Johnny Betty announced mournfully. "_Men_ with super-strength just have to be careful when they have sex with baseline humans, but _women _with super-strength will literally tear a human man apart. Yes, _literally_. Yes, I've done it and I never want to do it again."

Matthias shuddered.

"Well, that's horrifying. So wait; you signed up to be a goddess of sex and you can't have sex? I think you might be a goddess of irony, too."

"I can have sex!" Johnny Betty protested. "It just has to be with a fellow immortal! Or a post-human with super-strength. I'm fairly certain Skwisgaar's post human, but I didn't want to risk killing him."

"I appreciate that and you've been of great help on this trip, but sorry, honey," Matthias sighed.

"S'okay. I've got a 'friends with benefits' situation with this Frost Giant . . . kinda got a hankering for Scandinavian now anyway. I'll never get him down here but maybe I could get him to talk dirty to me over the phone."

Matty put his hands over his eyes and chuckled.

"You know, my little brother is still carrying a torch for you," he offered.

"Oooooooh, honey. Your little brother wants me to be in love and I don't think I'm up for that right now. I'm focusing on my career. I just wanna get fucked ten ways to Sunday, roll over and say: 'Mmmm, that was great. You can leave now.' I don't want to use him like that."

"But you'll use your Frost Giant buddy?"

"Njorthr knows I'm just using him for sex and he's fine with it! He doesn't want me barefoot and pregnant while he tends giant cattle. What time is it in Norway?" Johnny Betty pulled out a cell phone as she spoke.

"I don't think you're giving Clay enough credit, but whatever. It's not my job to hook you up."

Matthias was aware of a curious look aimed his way.

"Okay, fine, it is, but not right now. I have bigger fish to fry. Go have phone sex with your Ice Giant."

"I'm not quite free yet; I still have to get Murderface laid."

For a long moment, the only sounds were the background noises of a tropical night.

"Uuuuh . . ." Matthias began.

JB thrust out an arm and shook it, making a silver charm bracelet around her wrist jingle cheerfully.

"It's still a sacrifice! I can't afford to be picky at this point."

"But Murderface is . . . ah . . . have you ever met him?"

"Not face to face, thank God. Yes, I'm aware he's loud, rude, obnoxious and hateful."

"And the smell. Don't forget the smell," Matty offered.

"Cheerful thought. Don't worry, no matter how much of an ass he is, there's always someone drunk and desperate enough to hump him. I just have to keep some chick from coming to her senses long enough for him to seal the deal."

JB raised two fingers and sent out a questing spell to find a woman in the vicinity the exact mixture of desperate, drunk, and horny enough to consider fucking William Murderface.

"Got 'er! Okay, just gotta make him as fuckable as possible . . ."

Johnny Betty held her hands apart and concentrated.

Had JB not had her mind clouded with sexual frustration and fantasies of Scandinavian accents, it might have occurred to her that she found a receptive female for such an odious male very quickly. If she had more experience, she might have realized it was _suspiciously_ fast.

In fact if she had tried this same spell only a year later, she might have felt the tug from the other end, as though someone was setting themselves up to be in the exact position JB wanted.

But Johnny Betty had only been a goddess for a matter of hours.

* * *

"Excushe me, ladiesh . . . would you like to shee something shwell?"

The two women sitting at the hotel bar gave him a horrified look and fled.

"Picky shkanksh," Murderface growled.

"Hey, I know you! You're William Murderface!"

Dethklok's bassist turned towards the voice. A woman was addressing him. Yes . . . yes, definitely a woman.

Also, freckles.

There were freckles on every exposed inch of skin and buddy, was there a lot of exposed skin. A huge pair of tits were spilling out of a midrift top printed to look like a Confederate flag.

"Uh . . . yeah. Yeah I am," he muttered.

"I thought so!" the tits said. "I saw you play th' national anthem with your cock at the NASCAR Spirit Cup!"

"Oh yeah. It got pre-empted by fuckin' Toki and Shkwisgaar."

The tits had a really strong Southern accent; so strong you'd suspect it of being faked. Murderface raised his eyes slightly to take in the woman attached to those marvelous tits.

Oh.

Well, that was kind of a let-down.

The chick was on the chunky side, not quite to cankle size, but getting there. She had a butterfly tattoo on her bicep and a pierced belly button. Her hair was that totally-not-natural shade of red. Chunky Chick was currently draining a glass of something alcoholic.

Murderface opened his mouth to announce that he wasn't interested in Paula Deen's long-lost daughter.

"Hhhhhhhhiiiii-," he managed.

"Whatsa matter, honey, you got a frog in your throat?" she inquired. "Here; drink this."

The chick handed him a glass of something that looked like orange juice. Murderface took it and swallowed quickly. He got that burn in the back of his throat that told him it was a screwdriver, not just straight orange juice.

"My name's Dixie!" Chunky Chick announced. "Dixie Dunlap. My friends call me Double D . . . can ya guess why?"

Murderface's eyes went straight back to her tits. Dixie giggled drunkenly, giving those jugs a good jiggle. On the other hand . . . a fuck was a fuck and he _was _a fan of tits . . .

The bassist opened his mouth to tell Dixie that she could ride his cock if she promised to shut her mouth so he didn't have to listen to that _fucking annoying_ Southern accent.

"Hiiiiiii-"

"Did you lose your voice or somethin'?"

This was weird. His throat didn't hurt and he could breathe just fine, but every time he tried to speak his throat just closed down.

* * *

Matthias tried to keep his howls of laughter muffled and keep an eye on the images displayed on JB's phone at the same time.

"A – a – a – a _mute spell_?" he wheezed.

"It ain't his looks that are the handicap, it's his fucking personality," JB announced. "I can't count the number of times I've thought: 'Oooo, he's hot. I hope he don't say nothing stupid!' So many more guys would get laid if they'd learn to shut the fuck up."

* * *

Murderface rubbed his neck. This was really odd; how was he supposed to score if he couldn't talk?

"You got somethin' wrong with your voice box, don'tcha?" Dixie asked, touching his neck. "Does it hurt?"

Murderface shook his head.

"Well, that's okay," Dixie drawled. "You don't exactly need t' talk for I got in mind."

Murderface stilled. Oh. Oh. Uh . . . yeah. Paula Deen Jr. seemed to . . . ah . . . want to fuck him. That . . . ah . . . that . . . that was a good thing.

"Ya wanna go back t' my room? Just nod," Dixie said with a filthy grin.

When she bared her teeth in that predatory smile, Murderface could see that she had a gap between her front teeth. Dethklok's bass player showed his own snaggle-tooth grin and nodded.


	9. Chapter 8

"Pickles? . . . . . . Pickles? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Pickles?"

Pickles the Drummer lay insensate across his lounge chair, oblivious to his name being being growled. Nathan poked him experimentally. When this failed to rouse even a groan from the redhead, the front man heaved a sigh and threw his bandmate over his shoulder.

"Time to crash, Pickles," he announced. "I think Murderface might have been right. It's retarded to think our ability to get laid, like, depends on throwing jewelry into a pit in Mexico. I mean; nobody would get fucked if that was a requirement. 'Cept maybe for Mexicans. I mean, Murderface isn't going to get laid because he threw . . .some . . cheap . . . "

Nathan trailed off.

Dethklok's bass player was walking across the courtyard, hand in hand with a fat redhead. Well, she had hold of Murderface's hand and was pretty much dragging him the way she wanted to go. As they passed Nathan, the bassist gave his band mate a look that was half happy, half bewildered and flashed a thumb's up.

Nathan watched them go.

"Shit," he declared. "I need to visit that fucking ruin."

* * *

Charles finally extracted himself from the bedroom to prepare for bed. Convoluted as the logic was, it actually meant that now he could leave the smaller bedroom in his suite with two queen beds that up until now had been used for sex only to crawl into the massive king-sized bed in the master bedroom and sleep.

But first . . .

"Are you happy?" he asked Hope.

Hope tugged a nightgown over her head and gave him a contented smile.

"I am _very_ happy, Charles," she assured him, standing and hugging him around the chest.

"Are you sure?"

"You realize you only ask that particular question to whoever goes third?"

"I do?"

"Mmm, it's cute when your insecurities show."

"I am _not_ insecure," Charles insisted, putting an arm around her waist and leading her into the master bedroom.

Faith was sitting up in bed reading a book. Mercy was already asleep, bundled under starched white sheets and blankets like it wasn't tropically muggy outside.

"Good, because you have no reason to be insecure. Most men can't satisfy _one_ woman properly, much less three."

"Well that makes me feel much better," Charles announced, helping her into bed.

Hope crawled across the blankets from the foot of the bed so she could inject herself between Mercy's sleeping form and Charles' designated spot in the middle. Faith got up from the bed to allow the CFO to get into bed without having to crawl up from the bottom. Charles gave her a kiss on the cheek and slid into bed. The dominant triplet got in after him.

Charles snuggled down in bed with a beautiful blonde under each arm.

"Oh, I have missed this," he sighed.

"We've missed you, too," Hope offered. "It seems like forever since we saw you last!"

"It's only been a few months," Charles said. "It . . . ah . . . I've . . uh . . . the boys keep me busy."

Charles Offdensen was a savvy, intuitive man who was excellent at reading people even though he was socially awkward himself. When Faith and Hope went quiet for a minute, he _knew_ a topic was about to be brought up that would spark a Discussion with a capital D.

"Do you remember that road trip we took to San Francisco?" Faith asked innocently.

The road trip in question had consisted of Charles and Faith running to Japantown to pick up some imports.

"Y-yes . . ." Charles said cautiously. "We stopped for a rest break on the way back to Arcata and got busted by the local police for having sex in the car."

Hope snickered.

"You never told me that!"

Faith didn't respond, merely toyed with Charles' chest hair.

"Do you remember what you said?" she prompted.

"Y-yes. I said I wanted to start a family with you three," he said, feeling his stomach start to churn.

How was he supposed to explain about Dethklok and its curse? Mordhaus was dangerous! It was only slightly safer now and by 'safer' he meant 'harder to infiltrate' because nothing about a massive pseudo-military complex floating 14,000 feet above terra firma could be considered 'safe'.

Did he want to start a family with the triplets? Of course he did! If he had lost his mind and stayed with them in California, they'd probably be expecting their first baby about now. That would have been great; a nice big house to fill full of children – the kind of children that would _actually grow up_ – a small town and three beautiful women to spend his life with . . . it sounded like Heaven.

But.

If Charles thought he'd be satisfied with a life of run-of-the-mill legal issues and helping little Charles Jr. with his math homework, he was dreaming.

He had to admit, he loved being the CFO of Dethklok. As much as he tried to downplay it, he was probably the most powerful man in the world and he ruled his vast empire with money and music from a castle in the sky. The price he paid for that particular dream was constant vigilance against physical and financial threats to the band. Most of the conglomerates and countries he dealt with could wipe Mordhaus off of the map with a blink and they ended up begging for _his_ favor. The thrill, the risk of numbers and money and blood . . . Charles was a true junkie for it.

It was like tap-dancing through a minefield.

And now the stakes were even higher; if Dethklok fell it would probably crash the world's economy. He had faked his death once; any further attempts would be scrutinized further. It would be harder to disappear into the populace. Especially since . . . oh dear God, he had invited the triplets on this vacation. _Someone _was bound to notice them hanging around the band. They might have paparazzi problems of their own.

Now he _couldn't _choose between a brutal life with Dethklok and a big white house with three wives and 8.25 children. It _had_ to be Dethklok.

Charles took a deep breath.

"Oh, I wasn't actually thinking of _that_," Faith said.

Charles let a deep breath out. Hope giggled.

"Well, now that you have my attention, what in particular were you referring to?"

"Remember when you said even if you had to leave on business for a while not to give up on you, because you'd be making arrangements? That we'd all be together again?" Faith prompted.

"Oh. Oh, _that_."

"Yes, _that_," Faith said with an edge in her tone.

A 'don't take this lightly' edge. A 'we better not have been starter lovers' edge. Hope was cuddled on his other shoulder, staring at him with the biggest puppy dog eyes ever. Good thing Mercy was still asleep; she cried at the drop of a hat. But Charles Foster Offdensen would not be the man he was if he couldn't handle three women pressing for commitment.

Tap dancing through a minefield; one step wrong and the consequences could be dire. They ranged from 'one triplet slightly miffed at him' to 'three on one cold war' to 'searching the polyamory forums for love'. But he was Charles Offdensen. He could probably wrangle a four-way out of this.

"Faith, love, if you think you three are ready to move into Mordhaus, I'll start making arrangements right now. Everyone will have to quit her job, of course; you won't exactly be able to commute. Your Camaro will have to go into storage in one of Dethklok's terrestrial car pools."

This scored a direct hit. A muscle under Faith's eye twitched at the thought of leaving her beloved vintage muscle car.

"I'll give you guys enough time to properly say goodbye to all of your friends," Charles continued as though he hadn't noticed this. "Everyone who comes in contact with you now will have to undergo a background check and sign off on a pain waiver. Of course you'll be escorted by Gears and bodyguards everywhere you go; it wouldn't be safe otherwise. Your time outside of Mordhaus will have to be tightly scheduled."

Now Hope's face dimmed. She loved taking off on impromptu side trips and striking up conversations with perfect strangers.

"And since we'll all be together again – _permanently_ this time – there's no reason we _can't_ start a family. Of course, with the boys around, we have to have some kind of system to ensure the baby's first words aren't 'dildo', 'douchebag', or 'fuck'. I'm sure Mercy will think of something."

Mercy still slept, oblivious to the emotional blackmail going on mere inches away. Faith and Hope exchanged an uncomfortable look on her behalf.

"I'm sure you'll come up with some way to spend your time . . . . shopping or talk show interviews or something. . . and of course I'll make sure you all have a generous allowance."

Something half-way between a growl and a grunt escaped Faith. 'Allowance' was a calculated insult; all of the triplets were incredibly independent. Faith took it to the next level. The very idea living off of an allowance like a child rankled her.

"But if you're all happy with that, I will move you into Mordhaus tomorrow! It will be just you three, me, and Dethklok. One . . ah . . .one big happy family."

There was silence for a long moment.

"Maybe we should hold off on that," Hope sighed.

Charles hid a smug smile. Damn, he was good at this!

"Yes," Faith offered. "We want to be sure it's what would make everyone happy."

"Oh, well, if you insist."

"Well, as much as we like to think it would help, moving in rarely revitalizes a _completely stagnant_ relationship," Faith said.

"Well . . . I . . uh . . I wouldn't say it's completely stagnant," Charles protested.

"Think about it!" Hope blurted. "We only see each other every couple of months and when we mentioned moving in, you started pushing buttons like there was no tomorrow to put us off of the idea. So obviously you don't _want_ us in Mordhaus with you. I mean, what's the future for this relationship?"

"It's not that I don't want you in Mordhaus, I just want you whole and un-maimed and happy more!" Charles protested. "It was the 'allowance', wasn't it? That was too obvious."

"Much too obvious," Faith said. The dominant triplet pulled away from Charles and settled down on her back next to him. "And not very appreciated."

"I'm not exaggerating," Charles protested. "I couldn't even hold onto an assistant for more than a few weeks before I . . . took special precautions. I wouldn't know what to do if I lost any of you."

"And we don't warrant any 'special precautions'?" Faith asked coldly.

"Look; all the things I said about you living in Mordhaus would be true. You really should have an extended visit before you decide."

"So let's do that!" Hope said. "It's no use burning the bridge before we've even come to it."

"That sounds very reasonable. We will plan a long visit. Faith? What do you think?"

"Hhmmf," Faith opined.

" . . . are you angry that I tried to manipulate your feelings or that I was so obvious about it?" Charles asked.

" . . . . I haven't decided yet," Faith muttered. "I'm not above playing with heartstrings, but 'allowance'? Ugh."

"I'm sorry; I'm used to the boys. Subtlety is not their strong suite."

"That's okay, Charles; I'll take all of her turns until she gets over it," Hope said, snuggling against the manager.

"Speaking of obvious manipulations. . ."

"Yeah, but mine works!" Hope said with a grin.

Charles slipped an arm around Faith's waist and hauled her forcibly against him. She didn't resist, but went into 'dead weight' mode.

"Faith, I'm sorry," she said with a smile. "The next time I try to manipulate your feelings I promise to be much sneakier and more underhanded."

"You'd better," she allowed, relaxing a hair. "Sometimes I think you've never had a girlfriend before."

Before Charles could comment, there was a loud knock on the door.

"Papa?" a voice called.

"Oh no," Charles groaned.

He quickly scrambled over Faith and retrieved his glasses from the bedside table.

"What is it?" Faith asked. "It's just some lost kid."

"Oh . . . oh no, it isn't," Charles sighed. "Ah . . . . it's . . . . . ah . . . . please don't dump me."

Faith and Hope exchanged a look as Charles went to the door. Romantic tropical getaway, enough hot 'I haven't seen you for months' sex to go around and promises of taking the relationship to the next step; what exactly could be so horrible as to endanger all of that?

"P-papa, I hads a bad dream!"

Charles re-entered the bedroom with his arm around Toki Wartooth. Toki had on a pair of pajama pants with bunnies on them. He was cuddling a teddy bear while clinging to Charles and sobbing hysterically.

"It's all right, Toki," Charles murmured, rubbing his back comfortingly. "Papa's here."

Faith and Hope exchanged a look.

"Papa, I sleeps wit' you?" Toki choked.

"Of course, Toki," Charles sighed.

He made a 'scoot over' gesture to the two conscious triplets. Hope scooted back until she bumped into Mercy, then rolled over her sister. Faith followed suite, all three triplets crammed onto half of the bed.

Toki looked at the three women, then gave Charles a questioning look.

"It's . . . ah . . . it's okay, Toki; Papa cares about these ladies very much," the manager said, tucking Toki next to Mercy.

Mercy groaned, finally having woken up from having both of her sisters roll over her. She looked around with bleary eyes, rolling quickly through the waking questions of 'Who/where am I? What woke me up? Who's this guy next to me and why is he crying?' Her eyes widened slightly as she looked over Toki's bare back.

"What happened to him?" she asked.

Toki hunched tighter against Charles.

"Hads bads dream," he whimpered.

Mercy wasn't talking about Toki's bad dream; she was looking over the vicious scars on the young Norwegian's back. Charles saw the look.

"Those are . . . uh . . . . courtesy of Toki's other papa," he said.

"No others papa!" Toki blurted.

"No, no, he's gone now," Charles said soothingly. "He can't hurt you."

"Oh . . . . . oh, poor baby . . ." Mercy crooned.

Hesitantly, she reached out and stroked Toki's hair soothingly.

"See? They're quite nice, Toki," Charles offered.

Toki said nothing, but huddled tighter against his manager. All five of them fell into a fitful sleep.

* * *

"Tell me what you're gonna do to me," Johnny Betty breathed.

"Beautiful lady, I –"

"In Norwegian," she cut in. "Talk to me in Norwegian!"

On the other side of the world, Njorthr only hesitated a moment.

"Vi vil gjøre kjærlighet ned av ilden," he breathed.

JB cooed writhed, one hand busy between her legs.

"You have to come," she told her fuck buddy. "Come see my island . . . . come see where I'm a goddess."

"You haf always been a goddess, Johnny Betty," the Frost Giant murmured.

The newly-crowned sex goddess moaned and arched back. Then a tequila bottle shattered on her head.

"What was dat?" Njorthr asked.

Before she could answer, an entire case of tequila crashed down onto her head. JB lifted the phone to her ear.

"I have to call you back," she growled.

"Ixchel! I got you booze!" A voice from the depths of Hell thundered.

"Nathan Fucking Explosion . . ." JB snarled.

"So . . . so like . . . we're cool, right? Sorry about your leg. Try the tequila in the little white bottles; it's really good."

JB came up from the _cenote_ like a vengeful goddess. Nathan Explosion was standing on one side of the sacred pit, holding a bottle of tequila in one hand and swaying where he stood.

"Oh shit . . " He muttered.

"Nathan Explosion! Why are you throwing tequila bottles on my head?" JB demanded in her best thundering voice. "My preferred sacrifice is . . . . . ahh! Aaaaaahhhh! Oh God, the tequila's in my eyes!"

"The liquor stores are the only thing open at this time of night," Nathan said. "So, like . . . are we cool?"

JB didn't hear him as she was busy pulling up water from the _cenote_ to splash in her abused eyes.

"OH GOD, there was more tequila in the water! Ahhhgggkk, FUCK!"

"Are we cool?" Nathan repeated.

"Nnnngghhkkk, fuuu-uuuuu-uuuuuuuuck! NO!" The newborn goddess bellowed.

Why the hell was it that every time Nathan was around her, she ended up crying like a bitch? It wasn't fucking fair! It was definitely not divine!

"Awww, aawwww fuck!" Nathan groaned. "What the fuck do I have to do to be cool with you?"

The worst of the tequila was out of her eyes now. Tears still streamed down her cheeks and her nose was dripping with snot. She probably looked like hell warmed over. Maybe she could demand the rich singer build her a nice little hut so she didn't have to sit at the bottom of her _cenote_ and get hit in the head with sacrifices. Her abused eyes flicked briefly around the ruins.

"Build me a temple," JB blurted. "Build me a new temple and you will be my _golden boy_, Nathan Explosion."


	10. Chapter 10

"Papa? Papa, I goes back to my room now," Toki whispered.

Charles pulled himself up out of sleep. The triplets were stirring, but Toki was sliding out from under the sheets, Deady Bear still tucked under his arm.

"Oh. Okay. Um. You're a good boy, Toki."

He always tried to end a bad night with that sentence. Whatever was going on in the young Norwegian's head, hearing those words seemed to help. Toki smiled.

"Loves you, Papa," he whispered in Charles' ear.

"I love you, too, Toki," the manager returned.

The rhythm guitarist paused, looking over at the triplets who stretched and yawned and cuddled back into the pillows.

"Papa . . . . are dey Mama?" he asked.

"Ah . . . ." Charles cast a look over his lovers. "I . . . uh . . . I'm . . . I – I don't know yet, Toki."

"Okays. Let's me know when you figures its out."

Toki straightened and let himself out of the room, shutting the door behind him. The CFO let out a long breath. Here it came . . .

"What's wrong with him?" Hope asked quietly.

"Oh . . . . . a lot," Charles sighed.

"His father abused him, didn't he?" Mercy said. "That's why he has those scars. And that's why he's found a new father."

Charles nodded.

"What about his mother?"

"I don't know how complicit his mother was in the abuse," Charles admitted. "Toki actually goes to therapy more than any of the other band members. He just . . . needs a lot of help. And sometimes he needs a father; a real one that will let him be weak and make mistakes."

"Your devotion to the band is making more and more sense," Faith said. "They really are like your children."

Faith and Hope stared up at the ceiling. Charles was about to prompt a comment out of them – it was never a good thing when they got super-quiet – but was interrupted by the sound of crying.

Mercy was curled up with her face in her pillow, sobbing hysterically.

"Mercy?"

"Sh-she had that beautiful baby boy and-and she let his father do _that_ to him! She should have protected him! She was his _mother!_"

"Mercy . . ."

Charles pulled her up out of her pillow and held her while she cried.

"I'll . . . I'll never have a beautiful baby boy like him . . ." she whimpered.

"Don't say that," Charles chided.

"I'm th - thirty-four, I'm single, I'm a freak who wants to share her love with her sisters. I'm never going to have children, Charles."

Charles Offdensen was silent for a long while.

"Don't say that," he finally said.

* * *

"Jesus Christ, tell her you love her!" Matthias cried. "Tell her she'll make a wonderful mother! Tell her you'd love to have children with her!"

"Trouble in paradise?" JB inquired, offering him a mango.

"Mercy's just having a little backlash; I had to crank her mothering instinct up so high when Toki crawled into bed with them I'm surprised she didn't start lactating on the spot," Conway said, biting into the proffered fruit.

"Nice!"

"The triplets were a find, for me and for Charles, but damn he is not making it easy to keep the love flowing."

Matthias watched the quad interacting on his phone.

"Mercy's drowning in maternal frustration, Faith is realizing just how tight the bond between Charles and the boys is and Hope is feeling . . . well, hopeless. The boss is not helping himself out here."

"Maybe you jumped on the triplets a little too soon," JB offered.

"Maybe. Then again, I don't think you should be critiquing anyone in that area."

The American Cupid cast a look over to the ancient promenade, where Nathan Explosion was flat out on his back and snoring.

"Shush; he's going to make me a household name."

"What about Skwisgaar?"

"Like he needs any help," JB snorted. "Though I will take the credit for it, no problem!"

"What about Murderface?"

"Oh fuck him; he's got all he's going to get for a charm bracelet. He's on his own now."

* * *

William Murderface awake slowly. When he was awake enough to move, he shifted to the side and let out a huge fart.

"Jesus," a feminine voice giggled. "That's a hell of a thing t' wake up to!"

Murderface grunted and rolled onto his side. There was a long, rippling noise and a gust of hot air rushed up his leg. His eyes popped open.

"Did you jusht fucking fart on me?" he asked weakly.

"Couldn't fuckin' resist!" Dixie laughed.

She rolled out of bed and picked up a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from the bedside table. Still completely naked, she slid open the glass door to the balcony and lit the first cigarette of the day.

"Oh don't act like it wasn't funny," she drawled.

"Holy Shit . . ." Murderface said weakly. "You're a chick!"

Double D took a long pull on her cigarette and gave him a look.

"Thanks for noticin'. Next time warn a girl about them callouses. I'm'a be walkin' bowlegged for a few days."

"Don't be fuckin' grateful or anything," the bassist spat, rolling out of bed. "Like you shcore a lot of big name celebritiesh. Or just shcore period."

"I do all right," Dixie protested.

"Yeah, right," Murderface growled, finding a likely wall.

There were a few minutes of silence. When William turned around, Double D was still leaning against the glass door, drinking a glass of something dark. Her cigarette hung limply from her mouth.

"Did you just piss against _my_ wall instead a' goin' three steps around the corner and usin' th' john?" Dixie asked.

"What? It ain't actually _your_ wall!"

Double D closed her eyes, pulled a deep draught off of her smoke and blew it out.

"Y'know what? I was gonna say I'm here for a couple days longer if'n you want'd t' fuck again but maybe you just better go."

"Fine. I don't need to shtick around a charity cashe like – you were going to fuck me again? I don't shupposhe you'd be up for a quickie?"

"Get out."

Murderface wrenched open the door and started out into the hallway, cursing the lost opportunity. Just inside the door, he paused.

"Uh . . . I'll never forget you?" he offered.

The bassist slammed the door shut as the half-full glass shattered against the door frame. He wandered down the hallway towards the lobby. After a minute, Dixie's door opened and she appeared holding Murderface's discarded swim trunks between thumb and forefinger. She tossed the trunks out into the hall and lit another cigarette.

"No sir, Mr. William Murderface, you _ain't __**never**_ gonna forget me," she declared.

* * *

"Toki's accounted for. Pickles is still sleep – unconscious. Skwisgaar is still . . . engaged with his skanks. Where's Murderface?" Charles asked, standing in the hotel restaurant.

Three very subdued triplets – man, why had he gotten drunk enough to invite them? – picked at breakfast while Charles' own meal was practically untouched. Before he could send out Gears to hunt for Murderface, the bassist strolled into view butt naked.

"'Morning, assholes!" he said cheerfully. "Guessh who got laid lasht night? Oh, are thoshe taquitoesh?"

Without waiting for an answer, the band bassist picked a likely-looking roll of tortilla from Mercy's plate and bit into it. The red clad sister considered this for a minute, then sighed.

"William, we're at breakfast! Where are your clothes?" Charles asked.

"How the fuck should I know?" Murderface snarled. "What are you afraid your chicksh will abandon you when they shee a _real_ man'sh dick?"

Faith took off her glasses and started rubbing her eyes.

"William . . ." Charles sighed.

"_Cheesus fuckin' Christ, dood!_" Pickles howled, coming into the restaurant leaning heavily on Toki. "People're tryin' to eat! Put some fuckin' pants on!"

"Why yous walks in nakeds in fronts of Charles's ladies? You likes a dog, Murderface!"

"Fuck you, Toki, I'll take that shit from Picklesh, but not from you, asshole!"

The entire party paused as Skwisgaar ran into the restaurant. He was just as naked as Murderface, but a lot more eye-pleasingly so. The Swede pelted through the dining room and into the kitchen. There were a few startled cries and some angry Spanish. After a moment, the lead guitarist ran back through the dining room, his arms full of chocolate syrup, whipped cream and maraschino cherries.

"At some point, dehydration is going to become an issue, Skwisgaar!" Charles yelled after him.

The manager turned to look at his ragtag band of savages. Murderface was still arguing with Toki. Pickles had taken Charles' empty seat at the table; after three bites of eggs, he turned and threw up over Hope's sandaled feet. The green clad sister looked seriously ready to cry.

Charles ran a hand through his hair.

"Where the hell is Nathan?"

* * *

"I had a vision," Nathan said calmly, staring out across the ruins of San Grevasio. "The goddess Ixchel appeared to me. She said if I rebuilt her temple and brought her back to glory, my dick would be so hard I could fuck concrete."

"Nathan . . ."

"So we definitely have to do that. Build a new temple, I mean. So, get to it," the front man ordered.

Charles took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. A demand for the lead singer's whereabouts had resulted in the entire band – minus Skwisgaar – heading off to the ruined temple. Pickles had, yet again, insisted that the triplets accompany them. They were poking around the ruins while Pickles, Toki, Murderface, and Charles stared down at Nathan Explosion, who was sitting cross-legged on the ground, staring off in the distance.

For some reason he was petting a large rock.

"Nathan, we _can't _rebuild this place; it's a World Heritage Site. It has to be preserved as it is," Charles sighed.

"Oh. Well, we can build one across the street, can't we?"

Charles looked down the entrance across the single street bisecting the island to acres of jungle.

"I suppose. . . . . A . . . uh . . . a temple, huh?"

"It has to have a sacred pool so people can throw in jewelry and get boners in return," Nathan stated seriously. "And . . . like, she's a goddess of chicks, too, so chicks have to like this. You may need to hire outside help for that one."

"Excuse me?" Charles said.

"Well. I mean, you got these chicks who are really fuckin' weird to start with and they just . . . . they don't look happy to me," Nathan observed. "So, you know, maybe hire somebody who's good with women."

Charles jaw worked soundlessly as Pickles and Toki snickered.

"Excuse _me_," Charles began. "But as the only one present who's even capable of having a relationship for more than –"

"HEY! YOU IN THE BLUE! COME HERE A MINUTE!" Nathan roared.

Faith turned from the display she had been reading and paced across the courtyard to where most of Dethklok waited.

"Yes?" she inquired coolly.

"Are you happy?" Nathan asked.

Faith regarded him for a moment, flicked her gaze up to Charles, then back to Nathan.

"No comment," she declared.

"Whuh-Oh!" Murderface declared with an evil grin.

"Oh noes, you ams in troubles!" Toki declared.

"Dood, what'd you do?" Pickles asked.

"I haven't done anything!" Charles protested. "If the triplets aren't happy right now, it's not because of me!"

The tiny snort that escaped Faith's lips seemed far louder than it should have been.

"Oh. Apologize," Nathan hissed, looking up at Charles.

"For what?"

"Anything! It doesn't matter!" the front man blurted.

"I haven't done anything!" Charles repeated. "You boys are the one that have flashed, sworn at them and thrown up on them! They're not use to . . . . partying as hard as you! _That's_ why they're miserable!"

"Hey, I bought Hope new shoes!" Pickles protested. "I know how chicks care about shoes."

"Actually," Faith said in an ice cold tone. "Between the three of us, we've served eighteen years in the U.S. Marine Corps. _And_ we were raised by a Marine combat instructor. Trust us, Charles; we can handle gross."

"See? It's not us!" Nathan growled.

"It's . . . it's not?" Charles said.

"No, it's not Dethklok. You called us up, _drunk off your __**ass**_, after we hadn't even _heard_ from you in two weeks and rushed us here – then you spend every waking moment trying to keep us away from the band! I'm not even going to go into last night's conversation! Hope and I had to take off of work for this! Mercy might not even have a job when we get home! Why exactly did you invite us here? Did you just want something to fuck after a night out with your boys?"

The band members slowly backed away from the angry woman. Even Nathan somehow managed to get to his feet without attracting attention to join his band mates, still holding his rock.

" . . . I wanted to see you," Charles said quietly.

"Really? Then why are you acting like we're something that needs to be hidden away? Like we're some dirty little secret?" Faith demanded.

"Well, you kind of _are_," Nathan pointed out.

"Do _not_ help me," Charles ordered.

Hope and Mercy crept up on the scene. Normally the other two would have interceded on Charles' behalf, but this time they hung back.

"When we started this relationship _you_ told me that it had to be kept under wraps or else Mercy could get fired from her job!" the manager shot back. "I _thought _I was respecting your privacy!"

"Yeah, Mercy told me that, too!" Nathan offered. "I'm a witness!"

"Stop helping!" Charles spat.

"Yes, because you're just so considerate of our time after not seeing us for three months!"

"That is a different issue! Don't change the subject!"

"The chick in red is crying," Nathan pointed out.

Mercy had her arms crossed tightly over her chest, a few tears slipping down her cheeks. She waved vaguely, as if she didn't want anyone to pay attention to her.

"She cries all the time!" Charles barked.

As soon as the words were out of his mouth the manager realized how horrible they sounded. He was only repeating what he'd heard Hope and Faith say a million times. The difference was, every other time before that, Charles had been the one to cuddle Mercy and tell her it was okay, she was just sensitive. Now he just sounded like an asshole.

Mercy turned away from the group.

"Oh, you _dick_," Pickles said quietly.

"Th – th- that . . . I didn't . . . that came out wrong!" the manager stammered.

"She was ams in de army?" Toki asked doubtfully.

"Do you know what I would do t' have a set a' triplets worship me like dat?" Pickles asked.

"Jeshush, what an asshole," Murderface growled. "You don't need him, shweetie; I could treat you right."

Charles pushed through the band, grabbed Mercy's arm and gently spun her into a tight embrace.

"I'm sorry; I apologize. It's okay to cry; you're just sensitive," he murmured.

Mercy whimpered out something that might have been words.

"See? I told you he couldn't keep up with three chicks. He couldn't even take care of business with one," Nathan growled.

Charles ignored this and held out his hand for Hope. After a moment, she joined the tight embrace.

"I'm sorry; I'll pay more attention to you three. Give me a chance to fix it," Charles murmured.

Two sweet ladies twined hard against Charles' chest. Yes; this was the answer. His triplets were feeling neglected. The manager held out his hand for Faith. The blue clad sister gave him a dirty look.

"Please, Faith," he said. "Give me a chance to fix it."

Reluctantly, Faith joined the hug and four people very much in love held and clutched a each other close.

"Heeeeeeeeey," Nathan said slowly. "You three are chicks! You can design the temple! You're hired!"


	11. Chapter 11

"You think we'd be incompetent?" Faith asked coolly. "You think organizing the building of a massive Pagan temple complex in a predominantly Catholic country would be beyond our capabilities?"

"Never," Charles lied.

"We should have Dethklok play the grand opening," Hope said, studying the plans of ancient Mayan temples. "So acoustics should be considered."

"Nathan said it should be something women would like; any chance that they'd play naked?" Mercy wondered.

The other two sisters, Charles, and the waiter bringing drinks up to their suite all stopped and stared at her.

"It's just a thought!" she said quickly.

Faith shook her head and took a drink from the tray. When Charles leaned in to do the same, she gave him an unexpectedly warm smile.

"Thank you for giving us this chance, Charles," she said. "It's nice to know you think of us as something more than your devoted little harem of love slaves."

Guilt writhed deep inside the manager. _He_ hadn't given them that opportunity, _Nathan_ had. The only thing that stopped him from vetoing the idea entirely was the fact that if he implied that the triplets were, in fact, only his harem of devoted love slaves he'd likely find himself with one empty seraglio.

Ditto on assuring them that most ideas that Dethklok came up with were total disasters so they shouldn't feel bad when they failed spectacularly.

When Charles cornered his assistant for an opinion on the project, Conway had stated it would be a very nice thank you present for his so far unnamed friend who had rescued Nathan and Toki. Conway had never mentioned the fact that his friend was a down-on-her luck goddess, but then, he didn't make a big deal of his own divinity either. And if this Goddess of Sex truly did exist, it wasn't a good idea to anger her. Sure, the triplets loved him for more than his bedroom skills, but still . . .

Charles was forced to ride this one out.

He took a deep draught of his drink and sighed. The triplets were actually off to a decent enough start. Faith had a list of government officials and was systematically setting up meetings with them. If she had just given them her name they would have hung up instantly, but the words 'representing Dethklok's interests' were magic.

Hope and Mercy were sharing research duties, with Mercy looking up ancient Mayan temple particulars and Hope studying how they'd have to be modified for modern practices.

They were actually a lot happier than he'd seen them so far this trip. Well, maybe they needed a project to make them feel useful.

Leaving the triplets working diligently in the main suite, Charles wandered towards the door, passing through the living area where someone had left the TV on. He planned to go check on the boys, but the words 'Anti-Dethklok' from the television stopped him in his tracks.

Charles snatched up the remote and turned up the volume.

"'Anti-Dethklok'? We ain't anti-Dethklok," a man with shaggy black curls and a thick Irish accent said.

"We aren't anti-anybody," said a young man with short cropped black curls and a similar accent agreed.

"Life's too short for tha' shite," a third man agreed. Like the first two, he had curly black hair and green eyes.

The camera pulled back to show six men of similar coloring and build squeezed onto a couch. Charles recognized the set up for a music program that specialized in metal and punk rock.

"No, I said you guys are 'The Anti-Dethklok'," the host repeated. "You know, like the 'Anti-Christ'? Only 'Anti-Dethklok'; you're happy all the freaking time even when you're singing about hell and poverty and STDs. You love your fans . . . or at least you act like you do."

"O' course we love our fans; they pay us!" A fourth man said.

The very young man folded his hands in supplication and turned towards the camera.

"_Please_ buy our CDs!" he pleaded. "I don't want t' go back t' waiting tables! We're on iTunes an' Amazon, too!"

The audience laughed at his outright begging.

"You guys must be making pretty good money now," the host – Chris Something, that was his name – protested.

The six men in the band snorted rudely.

"_Someone's_ makin' money off of us," one of them said. "I'm lucky t' make it from one show t' th' next."

"I've got . . . . . twenty-three pounds on me," one stated, turning out his pockets.

"So if you don' buy Th' Bograts records, we'll be forced t' send Phooka int' gay porn again," the man who declared them not Anti-Dethklok said, throwing his arm over the shoulder of the man next to him. The man – apparently Phooka – was the one who declared life too short for shite. "An' we don' want him t' catch th' menopause."

The audience rocked with laughter at this declaration.

Charles didn't laugh. Mostly because the boys said stupider things more times a day than he could count but also he was getting a feeling. He'd always kept a close eye on Dethklok's competitors even though it had been years since anyone could directly threaten their popularity.

Though there was more than a small amount of anti-Dethklok sentiment out there, fans of heavy music had little choice than to listen to the heaviest band in the world or bands trying to sound like them. Sure, you could listen to country or pop or whatever, but that made you officially lame.

The Bograts were either metal or punk since they were on this particular program but they were cheerful, upbeat, and hamming it up for the audience. Charles realized that hating your fans was cool, but there was only so much a person could take violent rejection from their idols before they got sick of it and found another one. Also, and this was the more important point, they made a point of showing how broke they were.

With the economy in its current state, a lot of the anti-Dethklok sentiment came from the fact that the boys lived in unimaginable luxury while sneering at the people who put money in their pockets.

A happy, working-class band might be a big draw. Obviously, they weren't any real competition, but it might be a good idea to keep an eye on them. Maybe he'd luck out and they'd be pacifists, too. That would make them lame and Charles could forget them entirely.

"Oengus, what happened to your arm, man?" Chris asked.

The man promising to sell Phooka into porn looked at the bandage on his forearm as if he'd never seen it before.

"Oh. I . . . uh . . . I got int' an argument," Oengus said.

"Oh. I hope you won," Chris offered.

"I did; yeah," Oengus said with a grin. "Mind you, I've had worse than tha'."

The Bograt stood, turned around and wrenched his pants around his knees.

"Would you believe me old Da did that t' me?" he asked cheerfully as the audience howled over his digitally-blurred behind. "Don't it look like a face?"

"Oengus! Stop actin' de maggot, ye ory shite!" One of the other band members yelled.

"What are you watching?" Mercy asked, peeking into the room.

"Oh . . . nothing. A music program. Did you need something?"

"Faith wants to know at what level you don't want to be bothered with this," Mercy asked.

"Ah . . . . anything that doesn't require the cooperation of a member of the Senate or Congress."

"Okay."

Mercy went back to the bedroom to deliver the message. Despite himself, Charles' eyebrows rose. Okay, that was it? No plea for closer supervision or help? If they could really pull this off, Charles might have to give them projects more often.

Taking another sip of his drink, he headed down to the courtyard where the band was clustered around the pool.

Well, they were all there physically. Skwisgaar finally managed to wear himself out and slept soundly on a lounge chair, a pair of very dark sunglasses protecting his eyes. Occasionally he'd smile in his sleep. Pickles was face-down on a plastic table, a mostly empty bottle of rum clutched in one hand. The Gears had moved a few beach umbrellas over him to protect his fair skin from the tropical sun. The drummer was still incredibly freckled just from casual exposure to the sun.

Nathan, Toki, and Murderface were sitting around a second table, drinking and arguing.

"How . . . . ah . . . how are we doing, boys?" Charles asked.

"Charles, tell Toki there's such a thing as a Boner Goddess!" Nathan ordered.

"Ah . . . . excuse me?"

"Dey ain't nos such things as God!" Toki spat with unexpected venom.

"Oh. Ah. Well . . ." Charles stammered.

What exactly was he supposed to say to that? The manager didn't believe in God, either, but he was forced to believe in _gods_. Hell, the American Cupid was his personal assistant. He nearly threw the cherubic young man out of his office when he'd appeared literally out of nowhere asking for work.

Then Conway had dropped his human guise and revealed his divinity.

It was hard to explain the feeling of meeting a god. Charles was never a pious man, so the concept of religious ecstasy was foreign to him. Nevertheless, when Cupid had revealed himself, Charles found tears pouring down his cheeks. He was filled with euphoria and joy even though he couldn't say why. Offdensen had never even looked at another guy before, but in that moment would have spent the rest of his life serving that divine flesh.

Then Conway put his human suit back on and Charles was very, very embarrassed.

But . . . well, if Cupid and Ixchel existed, that meant the Christian God had to exist in some form or another, right?

"Shit, Toki, you believe in gay leprechauns! Why not sex goddesses?" Nathan roared.

A hot blush flashed across the Norwegian's cheeks.

"Is totally different!"

"Nuh-uh!" Nathan spat back.

"God don't does shit!" Toki yelled. "Gay leprechauns does whats dey promises! Dats ams de difference!"

"Yeah, maybe like _God_ God doesn't do crap, but that doesn't mean other gods are useless. It's like the government!" the frontman continued.

Now really curious as to where this allegory was headed, Charles pulled up a chair and sat down.

"Say like, you've got a government contract to like . . . . pay for your school," Nathan posed. "You gotta fill out bullshit forms and pay fees and wait and fucking wait and they never give you the fucking money and when you ask about it it's 'cause they came up with another fucking form that you'd never heard of but now you're past the due date. But, like, if you just go to a bank and say 'Hey, can I have a loan?' they're like 'Sure. Here's when you gotta pay it back. This is your interest.'"

Toki blinked at his bandmate.

"So's . . . ?"

"So like _God_ God is the government. You have to jump through bullshit hoops and like, be nice to everybody and if he doesn't come through it's your fucking fault. But Ixchel is the bank and I go up to her and say 'Here's some jewelry; can I have sex for three days straight?' and she's like 'Sure. You want to upgrade your points package? I'm running a special.'"

Toki considered this carefully.

Charles was forced to admit, it made a kind of sense.

"I can shay from _personal_ experienshe that Ixschel deliversh," Murderface announced proudly. "There'sh a red-headed redneck wandering around here that can vouch for her too, if ya know what I'm shaying."

Toki fixed him with a level look.

"You sayings it takes an acts of a goddess to getses you laids?"

"That's exactly what – wait. No it'sh not! I mean –"

"Maybe she was overwhelmed by your charm," Nathan offered.

"Joo checks and makeses sure she didn't steals your wallet?" Toki asked.

"Fuck you, Toki! She didn't shteal my fucking wallet!" Murderface snarled.

One hand went to his back pocket just to check. Then he felt his other back pocket. A scowl starting to crease his features, the bassist felt frantically through the other pockets on his shorts.

Nathan started to laugh at the look on his bass player's face.

"Oh shits, she dids!" Toki giggled. "You gotses rolled!"

Murderface cast a look at Charles. The manager sighed and snapped his fingers for a Gear.

"What's her name?" At the look he received, the CFO moderated his question. "How . . um . . how about a vague description?"

* * *

"Damn it all, I wished I'd got more blood," Dixie sighed, rubbing a tiny scrap of skin along an expanse of leather. "I tried scratchin' pretty deep, but he's got skin like an elephant."

Viewed from above, the leather revealed scrawls of runes and symbols that seemed to move under scrutiny. While the main symbol was more of a mandala than a pentagram, the casual observer probably wouldn't have been able to tell the difference. Fragrant roots were tied into place with tiny scraps of leather alongside colored stones and small bones of indeterminate origin.

"Oh don't be so damn jealous! You act like I enjoyed that," Dixie said, even though no one had spoken. "I've had better sex in prison."

The redhead pulled a tuft of curly brown hair through her fingers and tied it down in three places with the little thongs.

"And that's why you had to stay in your screw," she answered, looking at the bedside table.

A tiny, rusted old screw sat beside the telephone and did not answer.

"Patience, baby doll," Dixie drawled. "Looks like we may have to go to Plan B for the blood and we gotta wait a while for that. Damn it, I didn't think I'd get enough this way."

Double D sat back and sighed, looking down at her creation. She waved a hand over it vaguely as if testing it for heat.

"Naw, there just ain't enough power. I suppose I could send Javed after more, but he's kinda . . . . messy. We don't want Murderface tore up. Oh, oh, I _know_, Ben, but you can wait a li'l longer, can't you?"

The screw sat on the table and did nothing.

"Honey, I ain't goin' _nowhere_," Dixie promised. "Now how about you come outta that thing an' help me enjoy th' rest a' this vacation?"

The screw rocked slightly.

"What?"

Dixie rolled the leather up quickly and hurled it under the bed just in time to hide it from the Gears that burst through the door.

"Freeze!" They ordered, leveling automatic weapons at her head.

She screamed and curled up on the floor.

"Alls I said was I didn't want t' fuck him again!" She shrilled.

* * *

Since it was a vacation and all, the Gears felt like they could go without a black hood over the kidnapee's head. They were just taking her to the pool, after all.

Dixie Dunlap was dumped unceremoniously in front of 3/5ths of Dethklok. Well, 3/5ths of Dethklok plus Charles Offdensen, which didn't help matters any at all.

"Whatdya do with my wallet?" Murderface demanded.

"What – your wallet?" Dixie echoed dumbly.

"Yeah, didn't you roll Murderface for his wallet?" Nathan Explosion asked, still snickering.

The redhead stared at Nathan for a second, then turned her bewildered gaze to William Murderface.

"You didn't have your fuckin' wallet when you came t' my room!" She yelled. "You just had swim trunks on!"

"I didn't? Oh. Yeah, I did go to the bar shtraight from the pool, didn't I?"

Dixie rolled her eyes and started to climb to her feet. The attendant Gears seized her arms and forced her back to her knees. The redhead hazarded a look at Charles Offdensen. If rumors were to be believed, _he _was the one to worry about.

Dixie had to hide a smile when she noted how the manager's gaze seemed to slip and slide off of her, as if he couldn't focus on the woman in front of him.

At least that spell was working like it should.

The CFO squinted, took off his glasses, cleaned them on a napkin, put them back on and tried to get a clear look at the woman in front of him. If pressed, he could probably say she had red hair and a generous figure. After that, everything was a blur. He forced himself to find a focal point and latched onto a bright ring on her right hand. It was silver with a large yellow-orange stone that sparkled and glittered in the strong sunlight.

Charles tried to follow her arm up to her face, but again his gaze slipped and slid away from her.

"Sire?" Conway inquired, appearing behind Charles. "We have activity on one of Lord Murderface's credit cards. Someone's making a cash withdrawal in Brazil."

"Have you dispatched teams to the city yet?"

"Yes, Lord Offdensen. ETA to intercept is five minutes."

"Very good. William, you . . . ah . . . you should be more careful."

"Can I go?" Dixie squeaked.

"Yes," Charles said. Something about trying to look directly at Dixie Dunlap was giving him a headache.

"Wait!" Nathan called as the Gears reluctantly let go of Double D. "Did you feel the hand of a goddess guiding you when you fucked Murderface last night?"

"What?"

"No, I'm serious! Did you like, feel the pull towards him like something supernatural was guiding you?" the frontman asked.

"I think th' only one guidin' my choice last night was Mr. Jack Daniels," Dixie admitted.

Toki and Nathan roared with laughter at this.

"Oh fuck you, you fat shkank!" Murderface snarled. "You were all shet to go again thish morning until I pisshed on your wall!"

"Whats ams alls dis noises about?" Skwisgaar asked, stretching as he woke up from his impromptu nap. His gaze fell on Dixie. "Oh hellos, beautiful lady. Murderface, you shouldn'ts yells at gorgeous ladies."

The lead guitarist leaned down and kissed Dixie on the cheek.

Then the hotel restaurant exploded.

For a while, the area was in chaos as patrons and employees alike streamed out of the stricken hotel. A few brave souls, realizing their belongings were on the other side of the building from the damage, tried to go back in for their things, but police and firemen blocked them.

No one noticed a bedraggled redhead standing in the woods behind the hotel, snarling:

"_Subtle_, Ben; real fucking subtle! . . . . Yeah, I think that would be a good idea, don't you? . . . . . I just need the mandala and your screw. . . . . yes, be careful, you jealous bastard!"

On the other side of the compound, Charles Offdensen was leaving his suite with his briefcase. A few Gears carried his and the triplets' luggage on ahead. Charles insisted that the girls stay safe outside. He wasn't in any immediate danger; the fire was on the other side of the building. As the CFO exited the rooms, he saw that the smoke was starting to filter through the halls, creating a dim haze.

The Gears practically disappeared into the smog. Charles picked up the pace to catch up with them. A figure loomed out of the smoke towards them. For an instant Charles was on the defensive. Then he recognized the man.

"William, you're supposed to be waiting outside with the band," the manager chided. "Send the Gears for whatever you need. You . . . ah . . . you look very nice."

William gave no sign that he even heard Charles and strode past the manager back into the hotel.

Charles trailed off. Exactly when did Murderface have the time to change into a light gray suit? Not only that, but the bassist's frizzy, unkempt triangle hair was parted neatly to one side, the frizz treated with some kind of product that tamed it into rich brown curls. It was a very old fashioned look, but it suited William perfectly.

Only . . . . even cleaned up, there was a certain purpose and determination to this man's stride that didn't fit Murderface at all. His expression stated that everything would go the way he wanted _or else. _It was the expression of a man who had just decided to drive his head through a brick wall and was preparing to do movement exuded confidence.

This wasn't William Murderface.

Charles turned to look at the man again. They could use another double, especially such a dead ringer as that!

The corridor was empty of everything but smoke.

Offdensen paused for a long moment, then coughed. After the events of this trip, he wasn't even going to attempt to find an explanation for that. He trotted to catch up with the Gears and emerged into the light of day.

"Well, ah . . . I guess this vacation is over," he told the band. "Let's go home."


	12. Chapter 12

"See? We could still make you a nice, restful vacation. What the fuck are they still doing here?" Nathan growled.

Charles tightened his grip on Hope and Mercy's hands.

"I invited them here, Nathan," the manager reminded the frontman.

In fact, Charles was still a little leery about being out in public with all three of the triplets, but he had let the cat out of the bag himself so he had to live with the consequences. At this point, the best thing to do would be as publicly affectionate as he could stand to be and hope the players in this temple gambit dealt nicely with the triplets in an effort to stay on Charles Offdensen's good side. It was only a matter of time before his unorthodox relationship hit the tabloids.

"Shouldn't they be building my temple?"

"We purchased the property and hired the architect today," Faith announced. "Which I think is pretty good for a few hours' work."

"They have to survey the land before they can plan on the best way to proceed," Mercy offered. "That will happen next week."

"Oh, I didn't get much done; I had to find us this place," Hope admitted.

"You've all . . . . ah . . . done very well," Charles offered.

Nathan considered the four of them then let out a non-committal grunt.

"You know, Nat'an, I think I figured out your problem about this," Pickles said, gesturing to their manager and his three lovers. "You're jealous!"

"I am not jealous," Nathan growled. "It's just not cool."

Skwisgaar snorted rudely.

"Yous doeses its alls de time," the Swede pointed out.

"I do fucking not!" Nathan growled. "I just fuck groupies! It's completely fucking different!"

"Yous can't expects de butlers to finds new fucksings groupies alls de time," Skwisgaar said, waving a hand dismissively. "Ifs he gotses t'ree he should bes so lucky."

"And dey're so cute together!" Pickles protested. "Don'tcha think so, Murderface?"

William Murderface had made good on his promise to get totally wasted. The bass player was already staggering. What came out of his mouth was a series of esses and sprayed saliva.

"Hey, dey havin's lives music tonights!" Toki said, pointing to a sign.

"Hopes its ain't no ones dildoes," Skwisgaar said. "De Bograts? Who ams dat?"

"Oh, I've heard them!" Pickles cried. "Dey're cool."

"Table for nine," Charles told a waiter.

They were seated at a long table and immediately ordered enough food to feed an army. Booze was ordered as well and everyone got busy munching on chips and salsa.

The first appetizers were arriving when Pickles nudged Murderface hard.

"Hey. Hey. Hey." The drummer paused and thought hard, then finally added: "Hey. Hey, Murderface. Yer – yer girlfriend's here."

"Sshh-what?" The bass player groaned.

The drummer pointed across the dining room to where Dixie was eating her dinner.

"Looks like she already picked up another dood, though," Pickles announced.

"Shkank," Murderface spat, squinting at his erstwhile partner. "Wh-what guy?"

"Dat guy sittin' across from her?" the redhead prompted.

"Are you high? I don't shee anybody," Murderface growled.

Nathan and the rest of the band turned to look.

"You guys see him, right?" Pickles prompted.

Nathan and Skwisgaar exchanged looks, then glanced at Toki, who shrugged.

"Uh . . . what does he look like, Pickles?" Nathan asked.

"I don't fuckin' know! He's got his back t' me! But he's definitely sittin' at th' same table. Look, he just touched her hand and she looked at him all gooey!"

As if sensing she was being observed, Dixie glanced towards the band table and locked eyes with Pickles. The eye contact only lasted a second, for Dixie's companion followed her gaze and Pickles locked eyes with him.

The drummer had a vague idea of the resemblance to Murderface, but it was overwhelmed by the glare the man threw at him with a pair of eyes as cold and hard as diamonds. Pickles wasn't real sure how he came by the impression, but he got the feeling this man would kill him without a second thought. In fact, he would probably do it without much of a first thought.

Before the drummer could think much about that, the man disappeared. He was there one minute, looking as solid as his dinner companion, and gone the next.

Goosebumps raced up and down Pickles' arms. He looked down at the large rum punch he had ordered, then held it out before a passing waiter.

"I – uh – I need something stronger than this."

The waiter took the drink. Pickles turned back around to look at his dinner companions.

"Do . . . uh . . . do you guys believe in . . . y'know . . . . ghosts?"

"_Ja_," Toki agreed instantly.

"Toki, you believe in gay leprechauns! Somebody less crazy agree with me!"

Mercy choked on her drink.

"Gay leprechauns?" She echoed quietly. "Does it really matter what their sexuality is?"

"Toki . . . . ah . . . . Toki believes he had sex with a leprechaun once," Charles explained in a low murmur. "And . . . . ah . . . the . . . ah. . . . 'leprechaun' granted him three wishes, which included being rich and famous."

Faith put her hand over her mouth. Charles could tell she was trying hard not to smile. Mercy bit her lips and looked down at her plate. Hope's shoulders shook with suppressed laughter, then she shrugged.

"Makes as much sense as anything else!"

"Like sex goddesses?" Mercy asked.

"Or divine assistants," Charles said.

"What?" Faith asked.

"Ah . . . I wouldn't worry, Pickles," Charles said. "From my experience with the supernatural I can say most of them are very professional."

* * *

"And where is . . . . the body?" JB purred.

"Don't hate me because I'm beautiful," Matthias purred back, gesturing with an empty margarita glass.

"Move over motha," Johnny Betty hissed. "'Cuz I'm going faster than you can drive."

"_The body's beautiful baby_," Matthias continued, swinging his hips to an unheard beat. "_That's right. I just can't help it. It's not my fault. I was born this way_."

"_Born this way_," JB agreed.

The pair started to bump and grind to music only they could hear, fueled by rum, tequila and an overload of power and stress. Matthias still wore one of his suits, but his jacket had been lost to time, his sleeves were rolled up and his tie loose. Johnny Betty had finally given in to her roots and wore cowboy boots, a pair of cutoff shorts and a loose peasant top that faded from the palest blue to white.

They danced and sang on a raised patio overlooking the beach. A pair of Gears stood nearby to guard Mr. Offdensen's assistant. The hotel restaurant building reared against the setting sun, a few strings of colored lights already blinking on over the bandstand.

"_I'm up and coming/ I am a child/ Of legendary, hey I'm free and wild!" _JB sang._ "I am the ocean and I rule the world . . . something something . . . I am mother/ I am body beautiful!_"

"_Lights, camera, action/ Satisfaction guaranteed/ That's what I need_!" Matty continued. "_I celebrate the body and enjoy good health!_"

"_And I gets dooooooooooooown with my bad self!_" The two young immortals sang in one voice.

"_It's all good from the front to the back!_" Matthias declared, slapping his rump.

"_Two snaps and a clap for a body like that!_" JB declared, putting deed to word and pointing to her friend.

"_It's a good damn thing I don't care what you say! Somebody beautiful:_"

"_Hey, that's me!_" They sang together.

A curious thing happened. Matthias suddenly became very, very grateful for his friend's support on this trip. As he had mentioned earlier, he had wider powers than Classical Cupid or Eros thanks to the vagueness of the English language. 'Love' could be used in any sense from 'I love chocolate' to 'I love you always and forever' and Matthias's purview reflected that. Right now he felt a deep, platonic love for a dear friend who was there for him when he needed her. That feeling of love made him very happy and he wanted to share.

Johnny Betty, for her part, was ecstatic over her recent elevation to fledging goddess. She wanted to spread her new powers to their utmost! She wanted to make everybody in the world feel sexy and wanted! When you felt wanted you felt gorgeous and she wanted everyone to be beautiful! Matthias was awesome! It was pretty much his fault she was a goddess now! He was the bestest friend in any of the three thousand worlds! The American Cupid looked over at her with an expression full of joy and happiness.

"Awww, yeah, let's do this," JB announced.

The pair lined up on the edge of the patio facing towards the rest of the hotel.

"_Don't hate me 'cuz I'm beautiful_," they sang together.

"_Everybody's beautiful in their own special way,_

_Carry yourself like a queen and you will attract a king._

_Beauty comes from within._

_Whatever the mind can conceive and believe you will achieve!_

_Do you believe that you are body beautiful?_

_Yes, yes, oh yes!_

_There ain't words to express how I feel_

_I'm the body beautiful, true, that's for real_

_I am who I am and that's all I can be_

_Open up your mind so your eyes can see!_"

The Gears guarding the pair exchanged a look. What had started out as drunken _a cappella_ karaoke had changed over to . . . something else. Something that was more like a chant . . . a blessing . . . and it made them feel really, really good. On top of the world, really. Happy and confident and . . . .well, sexy!

"_I'ma tell ya like this and I'ma tell ya this wayMy body's beautiful, that's all I'm saying_

_Bodies come in all different shapes and sizes_

_You're beautiful, too, just realize it_

_Can't you see the beauty in me?_

_Open up your heart and set your mind free_

_Everybody's beautiful in their own way_

_Express yourself every day!_

_And when you've got joy on the inside it shows on the out_

_You're confident and you're beautiful without a doubt_

_You're absolutely gorgeous, don'tcha know?_

_So ya got the body beautiful glow!"_

* * *

Back in the restaurant, Charles suddenly looked around at his lovers like he had never seen them before. God_damn_, he had some sexy ladies on his arm! How many men in this world could say that they had three women who loved them? Not too damn many! He must be better looking than he thought. Charles almost reached for the shiny silver serving platter to admire himself, but he stopped.

He didn't need to check out his mug in a mirror. His undoubted sexiness was reflected in his knockout gorgeous girlfriends.

And he had a big dick, too, so there.

Under the table, Charles stroked Faith's knee, pushing her skirt up to get better access to her thigh. Of the triplets, Faith was probably the shyest with public displays of affection but she bit her lips coyly and pulled Charles' hand up a little further.

Three billion women in the world and she was one of the three the world's most powerful man had chosen. And chosen for a real relationship, not just a sex partner. She must be one hell of a woman. Faith parted her legs slightly to allow Charles' groping fingers higher.

On the other side of the CFO, Mercy cast a surreptitious glance at her own ample bosom. Hot damn, she had some rockin' tits. She may be packing a few extra pounds, but it was in _all_ the right places.

Across the table, Skwisgaar was unabashedly admiring his reflection in the serving platter. Toki was flexing his biceps; making the muscles dance. Nathan was almost startled by exactly _how_ green his eyes were. He was always told he had nice eyes; fuck, they even looked good in the back of a spoon. Pickles threaded a dread through his fingers, admiring the fiery red.

Every person at the table – and indeed, in the whole restaurant – seemed to be having a 'fuck yeah, I'm sexy!' moment.

Well, except for Murderface, who seemed to have chosen that exact moment to pass out in his surf 'n' turf.

In fact . . .

"Excuse me . . . . ah . . . . boys . . . . I . . . uh . . . just need to go check the . . . . thing," Charles stated, getting up from the table. "Faith, could you give me a hand?"

The eldest triplet got up and followed Charles. Had anyone been paying attention they would have noticed the manager drag his lover off of the walkway back to the hotel and spirit her away amongst the palm trees.

"Know what?" Nathan said suddenly. "I got a good feeling about tonight. I bet Ixchel is fuckin' grateful and like, watchin' over us and shit."

* * *

"What smells like honey?" Matthias asked.

"My hair," JB answered. "They sell this shampoo here that . . . I don't know what else goes into it, but I feel like I should be scraping it on biscuits."

Blessing dance over, the pair laid on their backs on the patio, staring up at the stars and only rolling to the side enough to drink.

"Your hair does look fabulous."

"Why thank you."

"Is it sad that that's the gayest thing I've done in ages?" Matty asked.

"What?"

"Said your hair looked fabulous. I mean . . . I haven't kissed, I haven't had sex, I haven't even – I've _barely _looked at other guys."

"How long has it been since Phooka left?"

There was a long pause before Matty answered.

"Three years."

JB sucked in a sharp breath in sympathy.

"Three years is a long time," she said neutrally.

"We weren't getting along great before he took off, either," Matthias announced. "I . . . changed."

"Well, duh," Johnny Betty said. "People change. That's all they do is change. Even mortals; especially mortals. And you didn't just get an upgrade; you went from mortal schmuck to god! That's kind of a big leap! How long were you dead for, again?"

"A year and a day."

"Just out of curiosity, what was like?"

" . . . . cold."

"Mmm, better than hot, I guess. But . . . everybody changes. Phooka changed from when I first met you guys to when I saw him last. I _know_ I've changed. And now I'm changing some more! I know I'm not going to be the same person I am now after this temple gets built and I started getting truly worshipped. But it's not necessarily a bad thing! I would just like to say for the record that I like the person you've become," Johnny Betty said firmly. "I thought you were kind of an airhead before. And kind of a slut."

Matty snorted.

"You know, now that you say that, I _never_ would have stayed celibate for this long when I was mortal. Why am I still being loyal to that fucking flaky fairy?"

"Because you're the God of _Love_, darling," JB cooed. "That's why you're still holding out hope."

"It feels stupid."

"Love usually does."

"By that logic, _you're_ going to get sluttier as a Goddess of Sex," Matty pointed out.

"I'm okay with that," Johnny Betty said pragmatically. "For the greater good of getting people laid, I am prepared to suck and fuck my way through a few pantheons. It'll be a sacrifice, but I'm just going to have to knuckle down."

Matty rocked to his side as he laughed, pushing himself up to take a sip of his drink.

Across the beach near the restaurant building, a stage was lit up and musicians were plying their trade. In fact, the lead singer was bouncing extravagantly across the boards, egging the audience on. He seemed to be bursting with good humor and _joie de vivre_. He also looked familiar.

"Get the fuck out of here," Matthias growled.

* * *

Gears were carrying Murderface back to his hotel room. Four of them grabbed an arm or a leg each and deposited the bass player flat on his back in the middle of his hotel bed. It was a chore they had done many a time before. Like every time before, they shut the door after them and left Murderface alone.

Unlike every time before, William Murderface threw up. The half-expelled chunks of food and bile caught half-way up his throat. Struck unconscious by an overload of alcohol and depression, he couldn't clear his airway.

William Murderface began to asphyxiate.

"_What shall we do with a drunken sailor_

_What shall we do with a drunken sailor_

_What shall we do with a drunken sailor_

_Err-lay in th' mornin'?"_

The lyrics were so old everybody knew them by heart, but put to a hard metal beat and bellowed out in a deep baritone. The singer couldn't compete with Nathan, sure, but he tried his best.

He had the long black hair, but this singer's was curly. In fact, all of the band members had black, curly hair. They bore a strong resemblance to each other, all six of them. Some had long hair and others short. The lead guitarist looked a good ten years younger than the rest and the bass player was enormous, but the rest of the band looked like they were stamped from the same template.

The crowd was clapping their hands and dancing. It was metal, but very lively metal. It was the sort of thing you could dance to. Nathan nodded along with the beat, appreciating the other band's art. Skwissgaar was even swaying to the music, pausing only occasionally to sneer at the lead guitarist's playing.

Nathan turned to say something to Pickles about the very Irish band. To his surprise, the drummer was white with fear. Pickles pointed a shaking finger at the men on stage.

"Wh-wh-what are they?" he asked, eyes wide.

"What? They're dudes," Nathan answered. "Right, Toki?"

Toki was staring at the stage, too, his eyes wide. Unlike Pickles, the young Norwegian looked excited.

"Dems ain'ts dudes," he said, a smile creasing his face. He pointed a finger at the lead singer. "Dats ams Toki's leprechaun!"


	13. Chapter 13

"I want t' t'ank ye all for havin' the Bograts here tonight. For most a yeh who's never heard a' us we'll have a wee introduction: This here is our baby brother, Aiden," the lead singer held his hand out to the lead guitarist, who waved. "On accordion, me brother Caderyn. Don' make fun of his accordion. Seriously, Caderyn, we need this gig. Caderyn? Ye listenin'?"

The accordion player made a show of adjusting his instrument.

"They have an accordion. That's so fuckin' lame," Nathan growled.

"On th' fiddle, me eldest brother Padraig!"

Nathan didn't know there were such things as electric violins, but the sleek black instrument Padraig held was plugged into a stack of amps behind him.

"Da always liked him best! Dirty fecker," the lead singer announced.

"They're dudes? You're sure?" Pickles whimpered. "They don't like, have horns n' shit?"

Nathan sighed and took the drummer's face in between large hands.

"Pickles. Dude. You are fucking high right now. You are tripping balls, in fact. Those are just a bunch of Irish jackoffs. You said you'd heard their music before and liked it."

"I am? I did? I did say that, right."

"On bass, me other brother Fion!"

The huge man waved to the crowd.

"An' last, but definitely least, on drums, Oengus!"

Oengus resembled the lead singer the most, even though the drummer seemed to have skipped shaving for most of the week and was content to let his black curls run wild.

"An' o' course, I am Phooka Aughisky!"

Nathan cast a look over at Toki. The young Norwegian had a strange gleam in his eye as he watched the Bograts launch into the charming Irish ditty '_Fuck You, I'm Drunk_', followed by '_Kiss My Irish Ass_', '_Ugly Drunken Woman_', '_We Will Fight_' and at least five different songs called '_Traditional Irish Drinking Song_'.

"Afters de gig, I gonna says 'Hi' to hims!" Toki shouted. "T'anks him for de wishes ands all . . . see how he's doings."

Again, Nathan noticed a certain . . . sparkle in the band's rhythm guitarist. Like . . . . oh god . . . . oh god no . . . that wasn't healthy.

"Goddamnit, Toki, he's not a leprechaun! He just tricked you into sleeping with him! And even if he was, you just whored yourself out to him!"

"Ats dat points I would has sold myselfs for a hot shower ands a sandwich, Nat'an," Toki said in a strangely calm voice. "Phooka turneds my life around. And he was really gentles, too."

Nathan looked away, suddenly uncomfortable. Not because of the thought of gay sex, although he might have reserved half of a shiver for it later, but because of Toki's casual confession of being a willing prostitute. The young Norwegian seemed so silly and carefree it was hard to remember that he'd been through some shit with a capital 'S'.

"It's not healthy," Nathan growled. "I mean, if you . . . . huh . . . . _like_ this guy, I'm just sayin' . . . expect to be disappointed. Not that I want you to be."

Toki's eyes widened and he gave the frontman a long look.

"N-Nat'ans, you . . . you's is cool if I likes guys, toos?"

"Eeehhhhhhhhhhgggggghhhhk," Nathan moaned. "Fuck. It's like . . . . fuck . . . I don't wanna watch you make out or anything, but shit . . . it's your life, you can fuck guys if you fuckin' want to, I guess."

"Oh, Nat'ans!" Toki threw his arms around the lead singer. "You don't knows whats its means dat's yous accepts me!"

"Oh God, don't fuckin' hug me!" Nathan growled. "If you're gonna come out of the closet or whatever I don't want pictures of you hugging me. It's gay." He thought about that statement. "Literally and figuratively."

"Oh, Nat'ans! If you ams accepting, everybody elses _has_ to! Fucks yeah, I coulds gets fucked tonights!"

"For the love of fucking God," Nathan moaned in misery.

* * *

A Gear popped his head into Murderface's hotel room to check on the bass player.

"Oh, his Lordship puked," the Klokateer observed.

There was vomit across the bed and floor. The bed itself was vacant and the hood could hear the shower running.

A cleaning team came in and started to scrub stomach grease off of the floor. As they were working, a tall figure came out of the bathroom.

"Have this room ready for a seduction by the time I return," he ordered before sweeping out of the door.

The Gears paused and looked at each other before peering curiously at the door.

"'A seduction'? What did His Lordship mean by that?"

His companion didn't answer, just kept staring at the door.

"I mean . . . clean, sure, but . . . like should we get some roses 'n' shit? Wine or something? Isaac Hayes on the stereo?"

"'Seduction'?" The first Gear finally offered. "What happened to his lisp?"

* * *

As much as Nathan detested the very thought of it, he was starting to feel grudging admiration for one of the Bograts.

Lame as it seemed at first glance, playing the accordion looked really fuckin' hard.

You had like, a little keyboard on one side and a whole bunch of other little buttons on the other side and then you had to do the actual squeezebox part. And Caderyn played it fast enough to duet with his little brother on lead guitar.

And he was head banging at the same time; you'd think he'd bash his forehead on the accordion.

Also, - and Nathan probably noticed this because he was a lyricist himself - they were really sneaky with the lyrics. The instrumentals sounded like something the Beach Boys would sing, but the songs were called _'Wicked Suicide_' and _'A Place for Hell'_. The six brothers rocking out cheerfully while middle-aged tourists danced, singing:

_'We get suicidal my soul_

_Sui - ci - dal_

_We get suicidal my soul_

_Sui - ci - dal_

_We get suicidal my soul_

_Sui - ci - dal' _

Also, Nathan noticed they were steadily getting harder. The first volley of songs could be mistaken for Beach Boys/Jimmy Buffet songs if you didn't actually listen to the words, but as the audience connected with the band and got drawn into the music, things only got harder and darker.

Phooka discarded his microphone and held up a set of bagpipes.

The audience _howled._

Twenty minutes ago eighty percent of this crowd had never heard of the Bograts. Now they sounded ready to start a riot over listening to the lead singer play his bagpipes. Caderyn dropped his accordion and picked up a banjo. Twenty minutes ago, Nathan would have sneered at the use of a banjo. Now he could have sworn the opening chords of the bagpipes were trying to bypass his brain and march straight to his feet with an order to dance.

Most of the restaurant was on its feet, dancing wildly and head banging. And this was a tour group of middle-aged Americans. Nathan just got the feeling he should back out of this crowd. On the way out, he grabbed Toki and Pickles by the shoulder and dragged them along.

Toki tore out of his grip and rushed back into the throng.

Pickles clutched tightly to his frontman.

"Dood . . . ." he sighed. "I gotta get some more of dis shit, 'cause I swear dose doods are fairies . . . ."

_'Hey nana, hey nana, hey nana, hey nana hey na'_, Caderyn sang.

_'!_' Fion howled in a voice straight from the depths of Hell.

And somehow Nathan knew Pickles wasn't using slang for homosexuals. He _knew_ the drummer meant actual fairies from Ireland. And not nice fairies, either. The kind they were thinking of in the 'We dare not go a-hunting for fear of little men' sense. Also, Nathan knew from his perusals of ancient texts that before fairy-hunters went out to ply their trade, they got fucking completely, Pickles-level wasted to protect against fairy Glamour.

It was very possible that the drummer was the only one present who could see the band on stage for what they really were.

. . . . now that Nathan realized _that_, they all had very pointy ears.

. . . . . . . _fuck_.

The vast majority of the lyrics were pure nonsense of the 'whey-hay- and up she rises' variety, but with six burly dudes roaring out the backbeat, you just got the feeling that your ass was about to be kicked. Somehow even the fiddle player managed to be intimidating.

"Hey. Heeeeeeeeey. Skwisgaar!" Nathan hissed.

Skwisgaar was standing in the doorway leading into the bandstand. The tall Swede rocked gently to the beat, ignoring all else around him. As Nathan watched, Mr. Humphries ran up and tried to push around Skwisgaar. When the lead guitarist swayed to the left, Matthias tried to shove around him, only to be trapped against the doorway when the Swede swayed back to the right. Matty tried to scrabble around Skwisgaar on the left, only to have the guitarist squish him against the pole on the other side. This happened a time or two more before the small blond let out a frustrated snarl.

"Get out of my way, you Swedish dildo-licker!" Matty howled against Skwisgaar's back.

The small immortal lunged back with one arm and a glowing, golden shaft appeared in his hand.

JB pushed through the crowd behind the two men and raised a hand.

"Matty! Is that a good idea?" she squeaked in a surprisingly high voice.

Matthias ignored her and stabbed the love arrow into Skwigaar's back. The world's fastest guitarist stopped swaying to the beat.

"Uh . . . ." Johnny Betty muttered. "Is . .. . uh . . . is that supposed to happen?"

Matthias looked up to see the supernatural weapon lodged in Skwisgaar's back, spitting sparks.

"Um . . . they usually dissolve by now," Matty said.

A long-fingered hand reached over Skwisgaar's shoulder and plucked the offending arrow from his back.

"Uh . . ." Matty said, backing away.

A certain glow overtook the guitarist as he studied the love arrow casually before turning to look at the young godling. One of the Swede's eyes now blazed brightly while the other was a black void.

"Oh . . . . . . oh shit . . . ." Matthias breathed.

"Tell me, little one," Skwisgaar purred in flawless English. "Was _this_ what you were trying to do?"

The Swede flung the arrow towards the stage.

"Phooka! Hey, Phooka! Remembers me?" Toki crowed, climbing up onto stage.

Phooka looked down at the Dethklok guitarist, letting his chanter slip from his mouth. The love arrowed thudded solidly into the kelpie's chest and dissolved. Matthias could feel the new love taking hold in his husband's heart.

JB's jaw sagged open.

The American Cupid fought against the instinct to throw himself at the being in Skwisgaar's body and scream: 'Why did you do that, you fucking dick?' because Cupid was suddenly the newcomer in this particular game and every movement was a test. And when you failed this kind of test, you didn't get to come back and try again later.

Somehow he managed to tamp down the blind rage and sighed, straightening his suit.

"Thank you," Matthias said way more calmly than he felt. "I almost lost my head there."

"In more ways than one," the Old God confirmed.

Matty hoped the little chill that ran down his spine didn't show.

"I really can't let little things like that break my concentration," the American Cupid stated. "I mean, we are all on the same side here, aren't we?"

"We're all on our own side, Little One," Skwisgaar stated. "That is what it means to be a God. We just both to happen to be facing the same foes."

"My enemy's enemy is my friend," JB offered.

The god possessing Skwisgaar looked over at the new Ixchel like he had never seen her before. A small smile tugged at his lips.

"A virgin fertility goddess and a heart-broken God of Love," he observed. "Why would I consider an alliance with the likes of you?"

Matthias stared up at the one-eyed god. The one-eyed god sneered down at Matthias.

"Look, let's just save some time here; why don't you boys just whip 'em out and measure 'em?" Johnny Betty inquired.

Matthias tore his gaze away from the elder god. JB was managing to look completely and utterly bored.

"Excuse me?" the one-eyed god inquired.

"We all know how this is going to end; you're going to sit there and bash Cupid for being the new kid on the block and Cupid's going to defend himself as politely as possible 'cause he has _class_ and I'm going to have to sit here and watch you two posture like roosters. _Men_."

"You _must_ be Ixchel," the elder god said, taking her hand and kissing it delicately. "Your last incarnation was an uppity woman as well."

JB bared her teeth in a grin.

"Why thank you! And you must be Odin. Or do you prefer Mr. Wednesday?"

"It wasn't a compliment," Odin said.

"Maybe not to you," JB returned cheerfully. "It's always good to know I'm pissing off the right people."

This earned a grudging snort of amusement.

"You hope to mildly irritate me to compensate for me taking away your compatriot's one true love?" Odin cast a glance at Matthias, who watched the tall pair impassively.

"Yeah . . . he's a love god; you think he can't fix it?" JB asked. "You just spilled coffee on his suit."

Nathan suddenly tore through the doorway, shoving Skwisgaar/Odin against JB/Ixchel in his headlong rush to the stage.

The elder god didn't move away from the young goddess.

"Well, if I only irritated dear Cupid, perhaps you'd like to find somewhere to become better acquainted, Ixchel."

Every iota of her being below the waist screamed 'Fuck yeah, let's do this!' However, JB had _never_ let her loins rule her head and she didn't plan to start tonight.

"You _meant_ to hurt him, though," she pointed out. "Me and Cupid have been tight for a long, long time. The great thing about being an uppity bitch is you get to have standards. So I'm going to tell you something I bet you don't hear a lot, Odin: _No._"

JB wasn't aware of Matthias wringing his hands together in worry. If she could have moved, she would have wanted to do the same thing.

"If your _standards_ are going to remain so high, you will stay a _virgin_ sex goddess, Ixchel," Odin announced.

"I'm okay with that," JB said pragmatically. "If I had to choose, I'd rather be a frigid bitch with pride than an easy fuck with none."

"Interesting choice for a fertility goddess."

"Hey, in an ideal world, I'd have lots of really great lovers who respected my power and gave me my space. But if I had to choose sex or respect, it's respect every time."

Odin gave a grudging little smile. Then, abruptly, the blazing blue/black void eyes were gone, replaced by the soused gaze of Dethklok guitarist Skwisgaar Skwigelf. For just a moment, a pattern of blue swirls and dots around ancient runes glowed around the guitarist's left eye.

"Heys, gorgeous, yous wants-" Skwisgaar started.

JB tossed him aside, suddenly looking a lot less calm.

"Holy Shit," Matthias began in what was probably a less-than-comforting tone. "Are you okay?"

The new goddess was visibly shaking as she groped her way to an empty chair and sat down.

"Ohmygodohmygodohmygod . . ." she whimpered.

"I wondered if you knew who the fuck you were talking to!" Matthias hissed. "Talk about posturing like roosters! I could take fucking lessons from you!"

The love god pulled a golden cigarette case from his vest pocket, followed by a gilded Zippo. He lit up a cancer stick and took a deep draught. Matty glanced down at his shaking friend and held out the lit cigarette.

"Here. It'll make you feel better."

"D-Don't smoke . . ." JB's eyes, wide and unfocused, finally calmed enough to look at her friend. "I - I didn't know you did."

"They aren't regular cigarettes," Matthias said. "It's not weed, either, don't give me that look!"

JB delicately took the cigarette and puffed on it experimentally. Her stance calmed in an instant.

"You know the Love-In-Idleness flower? The one the fairies use for love potions? That's this stuff," Matty said, retreiving another one for himself.

"It smells like cupcakes baking," JB observed, taking another toke. "So . . . um . . . . what are you going to do about _that_?"

The young goddess pointed to the stage, where Toki was holding Phooka's hand and talking excitedly to him. The kelpie looked half-flustered, half-pleased at the attention and fiddled with his bagpipes nervously.

"He always wanted to learn the bagpipes," Matthias sighed.

"I mean - you _can_ fix it, can't you?"

"Yeah," Matty said listlessly.

An arrow appeared in his hand. Unlike the shining, golden arrows he previously used, this one was dull, gray lead. The arrowhead - previously smooth and shaped like an inverted heart - were now jagged and curved. It was still shaped like an inverted heart, but a gap zigzagged up from the point, making it the symbol of a broken heart and also looked like something you never, ever wanted to get hit with.

Matthias put his cigarette in his mouth and a complicated compound bow in shades of pink and white appeared around the ugly arrow. The American Cupid pulled back on the bow, taking aim on Phooka's heart.

The kelpie was still focused on Toki. The Dethklok guitarist leaned in to whisper something in one pointed ear. Phooka's expression flickered to one of closely guarded hope. It was the expression of someone who's life basically turned to shit but now there was glimmer of light through the cesspool. Experience up until now stated that the light at the end of the tunnel was probably a train but maybe, just maybe, it was something nice this time.

Matthias lowered his bow.

"I can't do it," he admitted. "He looks too happy."

"Are you serious?" JB yelped. "That's Phooka! You two belong together!"

The bow and arrow disappeared from Matthias's hands.

"What right do I have to break his heart again?" he asked, turning away from the scene.

On stage, Toki was tackled by Nathan, who proceeded to drag his bandmate off of the stage, yelling about waiting until the gig was over.

JB flicked away her cigarette and stood. She was not about to let Matty make a mistake this big. One little hiccup in the grand plan was not about to -

"Goddamnit, Toki, if you're going to come out of the closet, don't fucking do it on stage!" Nathan thundered.

The audience _howled_ at this declaration, but not as loud as Toki himself.

"I wasn'ts goings to comes out publicslys _at alls_, Nat'an! I fuckings kills you!"

Toki punched Nathan, who punched him back, knocking him into Phooka. It was against Irish tradition to be near a fight without being involved in it directly, so Phooka dropped his bagpipes and slugged Nathan. Several Gears rushed on stage and started beating the kelpie. The rest of the Bograts abandoned their instruments and charged into the fray. The concert descended into a riot.

JB sighed. Okay; _one or two_ little snags in the grand plan . . . there probably wasn't a whole lot she could do at the moment. In the middle of a screaming riot probably wasn't the best place to convince Phooka to talk it over with Matty.

The young goddess retreated to a safe distance, where other clear-headed people were watching the fireworks. Well, maybe clear-headed wasn't a good word; Pickles was sprawled in a chair, too.

Murderface was approaching the group. At first JB thought he was going to get Pickles, but the bass player was making a beeline for a dumpy, red-headed woman. She saw him coming and sighed.

"For th' last fuckin' time, I didn't steal your damn-" she began.

JB didn't get to learn what Murderface thought was stolen, for the bass player seized the redhead, dipped her over his arm and treated her to a kiss so passionate and epic she expected to see Atlanta burning in the background.

When the pair finally parted, the red-head's blue eyes were wide.

"B-Ben?" she whispered. "Wh-What did you _do_?"

"Dixie, my darlin'," 'Murderface' purred in a cultured Southern accent. "When have you ever known me to not take what I wanted?"

Dixie didn't answer as 'Murderface' swept her up into his arms and carried her towards the hotel proper.

"Wow," Pickles observed. "This _is_ some really good shit."


	14. Chapter 14

"What did you do?" Dixie demanded the second the door of the luxury suite closed behind them. "How th' hell did you get Murderface's body?"

"Cupid smiles on us, darlin'," Ben announced. "The stupid bastard choked to death on his own vomit."

He put Dixie on her feet then crushed her into a strong squeeze.

"You smell wonderful," he murmured into her hair. "I forgot what it was like to smell."

Dixie frowned.

"If he _died_, you wouldn't be here!"

"Schematics; I waited until his heart stopped, then rolled him onto his stomach, gave him a jolt to the ticker and took possession of this lovely pseudo-corpse," Ben stated casually.

He released his hold on the redhead, caressed her gently, then squeezed her again.

"If he was only dead for a second, where's his soul?" Dixie asked.

"I neither know nor care," Ben said backing towards the bed and gently pulling Dixie along with him.

The redhead looked around the room as though she expected to see the soul of William Murderface peering at them from the shadows. The body of William Murderface sat on the edge of the bed and pulled her into his lap.

"Ben . . ."

"You must call me William now, darlin'," he chided gently. "I do realize we thought we'd have more time to practice, but fortune favors the bold."

Dixie was still scanning the room for the specter of Dethklok's bass player. Ben caught her chin and turned her to face him.

"I know reincarnation plays havoc on your memory," he stated. "But do you remember what I said the last time we were both flesh?"

Dixie's eyes widened as a flash of memory returned. She was cold, hungry, laboring to breathe as her proud soldier held her up in a sitting position to prevent her from drowning in her own fluids.

She was nothing more than a camp follower, a refugee in the War of Northern Aggression, but a Brigadier General had taken her into his tent and then his heart. This man who once fought his way through fifty Federal soldiers with nothing but a horse and a saber was rocking her dying body gently, begging, pleading, _ordering_ her not to leave him. And just before life had slipped through her bony fingers, he whispered one sentence that left its mark on her very soul.

Dixie wasn't the emotional sort but she felt tears pooling in her eyes.

"Y-you said we weren't finished yet," she whimpered.

"And we weren't," Ben said. "And maybe we won't be in this life, either. Maybe we'll spend the rest of eternity leap-frogging through time after each other; only meeting long enough to make the time we spend searching worth it."

"Y-you suh-searched for me for one hundred and fifty years . . ." Dixie said, earnestly crying now.

"Perhaps one hundred and fifty years from now it will be I who finds you a new vessel. 'I hope you don't mind putting some weight on this one, darlin', oh by the way, she's dyed her skin green.'" Ben teased, stroking his hands over her tattoos.

This coaxed a tearful giggle from Dixie.

"Hey, if I could body-jump into a skinny girl . . ." she began.

Ben sobered.

"I've watched you starve to death before," he said. "I never want to be reminded of it again."

Dixie blinked. She vaguely remembered being ill in her last life, but starving? There was a famine in the South during the Civil War, but . . .

"I much prefer you as you are now; plump, healthy—"

"Fat," Dixie supplied.

"Fit for loving," Ben offered with a salacious look in his eye. His hands went to her sides and gripped her firmly. "A man could lose himself for days in these charms and be delighted enough to fight off the rescuers that came after him."

"Oh great, I'm fat enough to get lost on – Oh!"

Dixie yelped as Ben rolled her onto her back and straddled her – taking the same position his ghost had been in this afternoon.

"Let's see if I can remember how to make love with a physical body," he purred. "Remember, darlin', the name you should be screaming is 'William'."

* * *

At some point the bartender ran away. The poolside bar was far enough away from the restaurant that there was no immediate danger from the riot.

Matthias didn't let this bother him; he just jumped the bar and helped himself to a beer. After a few minutes, Pickles wandered up and plunked himself down.

"Kin . . .kin . . . kin I have a beer, too?"

"Sure," Matty muttered.

He drew a beer for the drummer and set it in front of him, adding a bottle of water just because Pickles looked like he needed it. The pair drank in silence.

"Fuck it . . ." Matty sighed.

"Fuckin' A!" Pickles agreed, lifting his beer in salute.

JB appeared behind the drummer with Nathan slung over her shoulder. She dumped the singer onto a barstool and took off back into the fray. The lead singer looked after her for a long moment, then turned back to Matthias.

"I need a hundred beers," he announced. "Exactly one hundred."

"I don't know how many this thing holds," Matthias announced. "But I'll do my best."

"You look familiar . . ." the frontman stated.

"I'm freeeeeeeeee!" Matty trilled.

For the first time, Nathan didn't burst out laughing at that joke.

"Oh. I . . . um . . . I think . . . I think my goddess just rescued me," Nathan said, taking his first beer.

"Yep! She did, I just saw her," Matty said, draining his own glass. "You should make sure that temple is awesome."

Nathan nodded, still obviously lost in thought.

"I . . . um . . . I outed Toki, too. He's pissed."

"It can be a scary thing to come out of the closet," Matthias declared, pouring himself another beer. "You're suddenly not a man anymore. They hear you like to kiss other men and they expect you to wear makeup and listen to show tunes."

"Are you drinking beer?" Nathan asked.

" . . . yeeeee-eees. Why wouldn't I drink beer?"

"I thought gay guys liked little fruity drinks," the front man growled.

"Oh, kin you make a Mai Tai?" Pickles asked.

"Um . . . . I could give it a shot; there's a little cheat sheet here," Matthias said, pulling out a laminated card.

"So you're trying to convince me that you're really a macho dude?" Nathan growled.

"I'm not trying to convince you of shit," Matty announced. "You're not gay, so it's not like I can impress you into dating me, so why waste the effort?"

"Toki's ga – Toki likes chicks _and_ dudes," Nathan said. "Maybe he'd date you."

"Awwww, that's sweet," Matty said, sliding another beer to the front man. "No offense, but if every single one of you was gay I wouldn't date anybody in the band. You'd all make crap boyfriends. Plus I'm probably not supposed to date any of my employers."

"Hey, I'm a good boyfriend!" Nathan protested. "I'm a fuckin' awesome boyfriend! I take my chicks shopping and shit . . . . I'm awesome!"

"Are you trying to convince me I want to date you?" Matty asked with a chuckle. "We could go hunting."

"I am not trying to – motherfucker! . . . you _hunt_?" The singer stumbled through a few sentence fragments, having trouble expressing himself.

"I bow hunt," Matthias answered. "Guns are for pussies. Here, try this, Pickles."

The American Cupid slid the Mai Tai to the drummer. Pickles grabbed the glass and took an experimental sip.

"Wow," he murmured. "Dat's the worst fuckin' Mai Tai I've ever had."

"Sorry!" Matthias laughed, reaching for the glass.

"I didn't say I wasn't gonna drink it!" Pickles protested, holding the glass out of reach.

Matthias held up his hands in supplication.

Skwisgaar wandered into the pool area. He started to undress as he passed through the gate. By the time the Swede reached the hot tub he was completely naked.

"Well, there's one perk to the night," Matthias sighed.

The disguised deity took another long slug of beer, realized his glass was empty, and topped it back up just in time for Charles to come running into the bar area.

"Why is CNN reporting that Toki just came out of the closet?" the CFO demanded.

Pickles and Matthias slowly pointed to Nathan.

"What are you doin' watching CNN on vacation?" the front man asked sullenly.

"_Nathan Explosion . . ."_

"He said he was gonna hook up with his leprechaun! I thought it was obvious! I'm the one who dragged him off-stage and told him stop being a little gaywad!"

A muscle twitched under Charles' eye.

"The leprechaun's here now?" The CFO became aware that his assistant was offering him a beer. "I'm going to need something stronger than that!"

"Hey, Freddie Mercury was bisexual," Pickles offered. "You ain't supposed to get bent outta shape about that anymore. Right, Murderface?"

The drummer looked to his left, where, Charles couldn't help noticing, no one was standing.

"Oh fuck you, you're a homophobe douchebag," Pickles declared.

Charles glanced at Nathan.

"He's havin' a bad trip," the front man muttered.

Conway approached the manager with a glass of something clear over ice. Charles took a slug and nearly choked.

"What the fuck is this?" he demanded.

"Patron," Matthias said. "It was the strongest stuff I could find. You want a lime?"

"Look - look on th' bright side," Pickles slurred. "With Toki comin' out as bi, no one's gonna give a shit that you got three girlfriends!"

"Yeah! They'll just think you're a cum-guzzling cockhole who thinks of chicks as possessions!" Nathan announced cheerfully.

Charles considered this.

"Lime," he ordered.

* * *

"What's my name?"

"Ah! Aaaah! Will-William!"

"Say my name!"

"_William!_"

"Beg for it nice now!"

"Oh - Oh God, harder, Will, _harder_!"

The two Gears guarding the door of Murderface's hotel room were staring straight ahead. After a while, one of them finally let his shoulders shake with laughter.

"I don't know about the Bossman," his compatriot stated, his tone rich with humor. "But this trip is certainly doing Lord Murderface good."

The first Gear finally gave in to his laughter.


	15. Chapter 15

Toki was in mid-swing when something grabbed him around the middle and jerked him backwards. Before he knew what was up he was sailing through the air then splashing down in the ocean. Memories of his near-death-by-phorocyde flooded his mind and he screamed and flailed in the warm water.

"Chill," a female voice ordered. "I just need to talk to your fairy godfather."

Toki tried to look behind him, only managing to do so when he swung his head hard enough to flip his hair out of the way.

There was a woman floating in the water behind him, looking completely comfortable to be submerged even though she was fully clothed. Toki's eyes widened as he remembered the face of the eel-mermaid who had come to his rescue the previous day.

"Toki not supposed to dives or fly for another four days!" The young Norwegian blurted. Or at least tried to blurt. He got as far as 'Tuh' before water flooded into his mouth. Toki clamped his mouth shut.

"Oh, right! Sorry," the woman said. She gestured in an odd way and a bubble seemed to form around Toki, insulating him from the water and pressure. The guitarist spit a mouthful of salty water into the bottom of the bubble and took a deep, grateful breath. The strange woman was still studying the surface of the water as if waiting for something.

"Who ams you?" Toki asked.

The woman looked down at him with a benevolent smile.

"You don't recognize me?" She asked.

"Well, ums, I knowed you was dere yesterday with de fish people, but I don't know who you ams."

"I'm Ixchel," she said simply, using her newly acquired professional name.

"You de Boner Goddess?" Toki said in wonder.

The carefully crafted expression of cool, calm benevolence melted off of the young goddess's face.

" . . . the _what_ Goddess?" she echoed.

"Oh, uh, I means . . . uh . . . Toki ain't got a fairy godfather! . . . . . . Does I?"

A tremendous splash distracted the both of them. A creature swam out of the foam; vaguely serpentine but horned with a blackish mane of hair. A few tentacles coiled angrily, then a long pair jetted forward and latched onto Toki's bubble. The young Norwegian screamed shrilly as he was dragged towards the monster. Ixchel clung to the other side of bubble and allowed herself to be towed along. The magic bubble seemed pretty tough, but Toki's shoulder blades still made a spirited attempt to dig through it as more long, tentacled arms latched onto the bubble, twisting it up until Ixchel was perched at the top, right before the monster's gaping maw.

"_**MINE**_." It growled in a voice more felt than heard.

"Hi, Phooka," Ixchel said cheerfully. "We need to talk."

* * *

"O – O – O – Okay," Charles slurred, spitting out a worn-out lime. "Here's . . . . here's what we're gonna do."

Matthias gathered up lime segments and went to slice some new ones. He had heard that sometimes Charles would spend a weekend drinking with the band. The assistant always pictured the prim manager sitting quietly in the corner nursing a white wine spritzer. He never expected to see Offdensen put away a whole bottle of tequila. Likewise, he never expected the manager to join the boys in their hot tub, especially not fully clothed.

Oh fine, Charles had taken off his shoes and he was wearing khakis and a polo shirt, not his normal suit, but it was still quite unexpected. Nathan and Pickles had stripped down to their underwear to soak and Skwisgaar was completely naked. Somehow Matthias had been drafted as a waiter and kept them all supplied with drinks.

"Tomorrow we'll have a . . . . have a . . . . thingie . . . and say Nathan was just giving – giving Toki a hard time. Toki's lousy English made Toki think – made _Nathan_ think . . . y'know, something was going one when it wasn't. Biiiiiiig misunderstanding. It'll be just like the time Skiwsgaar got caught with that tranny."

The Swede's head jerked up sharply.

"She saidses she's was _post-ops!_"

Nathan and Pickles snickered drunkenly.

"Set up a . . . . a . . . thingie . . . press conference! That's it. Shet up a press conference, Conrad," Charles ordered.

"Um . . ." Con_way_ began. "Are you sure you wouldn't like to dry out first, sir? Last time you ordered me to do something when you were drunk . . ."

"I am not drunk; I have been drinking. There's a difference," Charles said primly.

"Yeah, dood!"

"I really hate it when employees backtalk," Nathan growled.

"So do I," Charles agreed in a lethal tone of voice.

Matthias sighed and pulled out his iPhone.

"This is going to come back and nail me in the ass," he murmured to no one in particular. "And not in a good way."

"I – I need some gummy worms, too, Conrad," Charles cut in.

"Gummy worms? Right now?"

"Well, it's . . . it's not for me. My ladies. They need gummy worms. For after – after I'm done hanging out with the boys."

"Would gummy bears work or –"

"No! It has to be gummy _worms_!"

"Yes, sir, I'll –" Conway paused as it struck him _why_ it had to be gummy worms. "I didn't know straight people knew that trick," he mused. "I'll find you some gummy worms, sir."

"What trick?" Nathan asked, eyeing his manager distrustfully.

Charles lolled his head to look at the front man.

"You . . . ah . . . _you_ don't know the gummy worm trick?"

"Uh . . . of course I do!" Nathan blurted. "I – I just didn't think you would."

The lead singer cast a puzzled look at Pickles, who was far beyond noticing it. Skwisgaar had his head tilted back and was staring up at the sky; no help there. A massive bubble broke the surface of the water, bringing with it the faint smell of ponds and decay.

Charles opened his mouth to tell Murderface to at least say 'excuse me' but closed his mouth when he realized the bass player wasn't present. Where was William, anyway?

The water in the hot tub exploded upwards. An octopus tentacle as big around as a tree reached up into the night sky. A figure was clutched in the huge, ropy appendage; a very familiar figure.

"_Toki's ready to go homes now!_" the figure screamed.

"Toki?" Charles cried, scrambling out of the hot tub. Gears rushed into the area, guns at the ready. "Don't! You'll hit Toki!"

Nathan, Pickles, and Skwisgaar bolted behind their bodyguards, screaming: 'Kill it! Kill it!'

"You can't be fucking serious," came a long-suffering sigh.

Charles looked around at his assistant. Conway didn't look scared. He didn't even look concerned. His attitude said 'Everything else happened tonight and now this. I hate my job.'

"You! Get Toki!" Charles ordered. "I'll give you a corner office!"

"I already have a corner office," Matthias said, still unconcerned by Toki flailing around two stories above concrete.

"Then you'll get a company helicopter! Toki!"

"I don't _need_ a heli-"

"We'll discuss the details later! Just get Toki!"

"All right, all right; I'm going," Conway sighed.

There was a soft 'whump!' and Offdensen's personal assistant was airborne.

"Oh holy shit, dood! I changed my mind, I don't want no more of this shit!" Pickles announced.

The drummer turned and ran off into the dark.

"Holy fuck . . . ." Nathan growled. "You . . . ah . . . . you have an angel for an assistant."

Matthias Conway soared over the heads of the assembled on white wings that seemed to glow from within. The only fact that he was still wearing the same rumpled suit he'd been wearing for the past eighteen hours detracted from the ethereal image, but only slightly.

"He's not an angel," Charles stated. "And he'll get pissed if you call him that."

Matthias alit on the gigantic tentacle next to Toki and grabbed him by the T-shirt. The tentacle bent backwards as though it were trying to grab Matthias and let Toki loose of it's suckered grip. The pair immediately plummeted towards the ground; Matthias stroking hard with his wings, but not able to actually carry the larger man.

Charles hadn't considered that; you didn't see sparrows carrying squirrels around. Toki was easily twice Matthias's weight. The wet T-shirt slid through the young deity's hands and Toki fell.

The tentacle coiled again as if searching for it's lost tidbit. Toki bounced off of the back of the giant arm and slid into the hot tub. He scrambled out a second later and bolted for the safety of the Gears.

Matthias fought to gain height now that the burden of Toki was gone. The wildly flailing tentacle crashed across his back, coiled around him and retreated back into the water of the hot tub, dragging the American Cupid with it. After a minute, the blackish water in the Jacuzzi turned to it's normal clarity.

The jets were even still on.

* * *

"So what's the plan now?" Dixie asked, her head pillowed on Ben's chest.

"Do you still have the money Javed stole from this oaf?"

"Mmm, he managed to get ten thousand before the account was shut down," the redhead said, fingering the yellow-orange stone on her ring.

"They didn't catch him on camera or any of that nonsense, did they?"

"No, he said he torched every location as soon as he had the money," Dixie said, leaning up on one elbow.

"Handy fellow with flame, that Arab," Ben observed.

"What about Plan B?" Dixie asked.

"I love Plan B," Ben announced. "_J'adore_ Plan B. In fact, let's work on Plan B all night!"

Dixie couldn't help snorting.

"'_J'adore_'?"

"'_Je t'aime?_'" Ben offered.

"You ain't gonna convince _nobody_ that you're William Murderface if you go bustin' into random French," she announced with a grin.

"German, then?"

Dixie snorted again and whapped him gently with a pillow.

"I'm _serious!_" she said, despite all evidence to the contrary. "William Murderface is a . . . . well, everything about him is 'poorly': poorly spoken, poorly educated, poorly dressed . . ."

"I'll have you know I've been practicing being an oaf. I can curse in front of a lady and everything."

"Oh yeah? Tell me to fuck off," Dixie ordered.

" . . . . I did say 'in front of', not 'at', titian."

"You can't call me 'titian' either! That's way too educated of a nickname! . . . even though it is really sweet," she conceded with a shy grin.

"I have been calling you 'titian' for more one hundred and fifty years and I don't intend to stop now," Ben said. "I'll say I'm having a mid-life crisis and I've been taking elocution lessons and whatnot."

" . . . we are doomed," Dixie observed.

"Oh no, titian. You see, in this time everything worth anything has to be measured; I'm sure the powers that be have dear William's fingerprints, hair samples, DNA, and those eye scan things as a matter of public record. Any attempt to prove that I'm _not_ William Murderface will only prove that this _is_ his body. I'd be more at risk of being convicted of body-snatching back in the Victorian era."

"Good point," Dixie sighed. She sat up and took another long look around the room. "I'd still like to know what happened to his soul."

* * *

Pickles sprinted through the night, heedless of where he was going. This night was turning into one bad trip and he didn't even remember dropping any acid! First there was that ghost that looked like Murderface, then the UnSeelie Court had taken up metal – which would be pretty badass as long as you weren't in immediate danger of being eaten – then a giant octopus possessed the Jacuzzi! No more, man, just no more!

Pickles was startled to see that Murderface was keeping up with him on his headlong flight. The bass player was the most out of shape member of the band but he stayed beside the sprinting ginger as though it were nothing. He didn't even look out of breath.

"What?" the drummer suddenly yelped. "We're runnin' from a fuckin' monster an' you wanna know if the guys are mad at you?"

Only the crackle of dried leaves and brush cracking underfoot broke the night silence.

"I don't know why everybody else was ignorin' you, okay? I – OOF!"

In his headlong dash, Pickles burst back into tame land; a dry dock for the hotel's many tour boats. It also seemed to be a hang-out for various night workers sneaking a smoke or surreptitious nip from a flask. The Dethklok drummer crashed into a woman smoking, knocking her down.

"Watch it, ye rat-arsed bastard!" She snapped. "That was me last fag, too."

On some level Pickles registered the Irish accent. His first thought was to get back on his feet and keep running. His second thought was to warn the chick he'd run into about the monsters. He grabbed her wrist and yanked her to her feet.

"Dood, we gotta get outta here! We . . . gotta . . . oh fuck me."

Any other time, he might have been preoccupied with the woman's gorgeous black curls or flashing green eyes and even now he wasn't above admiring the generous figure under her little black dress. But right now he couldn't help noticing the small, delicate horns curving up out of her skull.

"Oh Jesus," Pickles whimpered.

He tried to release her wrist, but found his fingers locked into place.

"What are ye starin' at?" the woman inquired in a low tone. "Ye can see 'em, can't ye?"

"W-w-what? Uh. Uuuuuuh, no. I can't see your horns. You look perfectly human t' me," Pickles stammered.

There was a long pause as the woman digested this.

"Right then so," she decided. "Ye're with me, ginger."

The woman started to walk back into the jungle, dragging Pickles along as though he were nothing more than a balloon tied around her wrist.

"No! Gahd! Help! Murderface! Murderface, go get help!"

The woman looked over her shoulder.

"Ye think a dead man'll be much help?" she asked.

"What? Fuck you, lady! Murderface! Run back and get help!"

The dark-haired woman shrugged and dragged the drummer into the jungle.

* * *

In yet another part of the jungle, swampy black water roiled, bubbled and discharged a ragged winged figure.

Matthias crawled up onto the bank with difficultly, pulling himself forcefully from the foul mud. He gagged from the stagnant smell of the swamp, but finally found a piece of ground that didn't threaten to swallow him and collapsed on it.

In the water behind him, a creature broke the surface. It had a long, serpentine head, crowned with horns – one of them broken off half-way, and a mane of black hair. It's long, column-like neck stretched up and up as it observed the American Cupid. A few enormous tentacles coiled around nearby trees, pulling the fell beast up onto shore.

Matthias stared up at the monster and shook dirty water from his wings.

"The explanation you are about to give me had better be _fucking amazing_!"


	16. Chapter 16

"Who's in th' mood for ginger?"

Pickles was lifted up and thrown down across a cold rock.

"I'm full up on Mexican," a male voice announced, belching.

"Tourists," a second male stated.

"I could eat," said a third.

"Me, too," agreed a fourth.

Pickles whimpered. Shapes appeared out of the darkness. Vaguely humanoid, but horns and tails and hooves sprouted from them.

"D-Don't come any closer!" The drummer yelped. "I – I – I just gotta say th' Lord's Prayer and you guys have t' disappear!"

"Oh yes?" One of the horned men stated. "How does that go, then?"

Pickles opened his mouth to recite the bit of religious doggerel, then closed it.

"Fuck, Toki would know this," he whimpered.

"I call dibs on his tongue!" one of the smaller shapes cried.

"No callin' dibs! Ye get to it first and it's yours!" another voice ordered.

"'ere; wait. That's Pickles th' Drummer!" The tongue-desiring voice said. "We cannea eat him!"

"Dat's right, dat's right!" Pickles cried, scooting closer to the shape with the taste for tongue. "You guys want money? I could make you rich!"

Closer to, Pickles could see the shape was a young man. He looked to be in his late teens or early twenties. His eyes had gone flat black and his mouth was full of jagged teeth. A pair of horns crowned his head. The horns were wide but not very long. Pickles realized it was because they were still growing in; his savior was just a kid. Even with the horns and teeth, he was still recognizable.

"Hey, yer . . uh . . . y-yer Aiden Aughisky from th' Bograts, ain't ya?"

"He knows who we are! Now we have t' eat him!" Another man creature said. Pickles recognized him as Padraig Aughisky; violinist for the Bograts.

"No, we don't!" Aiden protested. "He's high so much no one would believe him anyway!"

"Dat's right!" Pickles agreed, scooting closer to Aiden. "Even Nat'an was tellin' me I was high when I saw you guys earlier!"

"'Earlier'?" Padraig turned a questioning look to the woman who had dragged Pickles in. "Why did you bring him here, Nessie?"

"He's Aware," she said simply. "I thought we could make a later dinner of him, but he might be more useful t' us alive."

"He's Pickles th' Drummer? He's shorter in real life," Caderyn stated.

"Come on, let's eat him anyway!" Oengus yelled, snagging the drummer's ankle with a tentacle.

"No!" Aiden cried, grabbing Pickles by the arm. "You can't have Dethklok wi'out Pickles!"

"Dat's right! I'm an integral part of the ba-and!" he wailed.

Aiden hauled back on Pickles, but his older brother easily dragged him forward.

"Damn an' blast, Aiden, yer're gonna develop an' unhealthy relationship wit' food jest like Phooka!"

"You can't eat Pickles!" Aiden repeated.

The young kelpie retained his grip on the drummer, but his own tentacles snaked out from under his shirt and lashed around few nearby trees.

"Aiden . . . listen t' yer brother," Padraig sighed. "Look at th' mess Phooka's in now."

"Don't listen t' Oengus!" Nessie snapped. "OR Padraig! This is Pickles th' Drummer an' he's more valuable alive!"

The female kelpie appeared alongside her little brother and added her own weight and tentacles to the tug of war.

"Yeah! Yeah!" Pickles wheezed, barely able to shout between the three creatures trying to pull him apart. "I kin – kin give you guys - *pant* anyt'ing!"

"We're getting' loads of energy from our audiences," Caderyn pointed out, watching the scuffle dispassionately. "An' money's no' really our final object. What could ye give us?"

"Are you lot stupid?" Nessie grunted. "We get energy an' food from crowds a' a couple hundred! What d'ye think we'd get if we opened fer Dethklok?"

Oengus's tentacle abruptly let go, sending Aiden, Nessie, and Pickles into a heap.

* * *

On a desolate beach, two men sat on a rock outcropping and watched the waves roll in. The huge tentacle serpent was back into his human form; lead singer for the Bograts, Phooka Aughisky. His long black hair tumbled down his back in a mass of curls. He wore jeans and a dark green shirt that hugged his muscular form pleasantly. All in all, Phooka qualified as a dish.

He lifted his head slightly and looked over to Cupid, a.k.a. Matthias Conway. He looked so different now than when he was a mere mortal by the name of Matthias Conway. True, he was still slight and blond, but he'd lost a great deal of the androgyny he'd had as a mortal. Before his resurrection, Matty could pass for an athletic woman or a very feminine man; now he was clearly male, even with his very pretty features.

He'd also lost a great deal of his insecurity. If Phooka had disappeared for a while, Matty would have thrown himself at the kelpie's feet and begged for forgiveness. He wouldn't have been seething with cold rage like he was now.

"Um . . . . I'm . . . uh . . . I'm sorry, luv," Phooka stated.

"You sure are," Matthias agreed coldly.

Phooka hung his head.

"I deserv'd that," he admitted. "You . . . you didn't. You never did anything to deserve . . . to deserve me walkin' out on you."

"Then _why_ did you do it?" Matthias asked plaintively.

"Because . . . . I – I wasn't through grievin' for yeh," Phooka said. "You had died and I . . . I was grievin' for my love."

"But I came back!" Matty protested. "I wasn't dead anymore!"

"You did," Phooka said. "But – yeh weren't th' same. Oh, I know you were still the same on th' inside, but . . . Your face, your scent, even your smile were all different. I was still grieving for my husband. Maybe some would argue tha' you came back as a better version, but . . . I missed my silly li'l boy. Some things you still did the same, but it only reminded me of things that were gone forever. It's as if . . ." the kelpie paused to sigh roughly, dragging his fingers through his hair.

"I'm a piece a' shite," he stated suddenly. "I thought I was just mourning my lost love. I thought that's what it was. I even went back t' Miami last year t' find ye again, but you were already gone. And I saw Toki again today. . . . . fuck me, _annsachd_, I felt that spark again."

Phooka hung his head.

"Apparently, I'm just a piece a' shite who has a thing for li'l mortal boys."

"Uh . . . I . . . wouldn't worry about that too much," Matthias said uneasily. "There . . . um . . there might have been a scuffle over a love arrow in the crowd then."

Phooka straightened slightly.

"What?"

"You came back for me?"

"Of course I did. What d'ye mean 'a scuffle o'er a love arrow'?"

"I thought . . . I mean; I guess it was easy for me; just a void of cold and then I was back better than ever. I didn't think about what it did to you. Am I really that different?"

"Yes. All of it's for the better, but . . . I still miss me whiny, ignorant li'l boy."

"'Whiny'? 'Ignorant'?" Matthias echoed.

"Ye did attend th' Florida Public School System," Phooka pointed out.

"Wuh – okay, I'll give you that one," Matthias conceded.

"I fell in love wit' ye when ye were just a brief flash a' light . . . a candle . . . in a dark world. I wished it could last forever an' then . . . then yeh came back as a followin' star, bold an' bright an' everlastin'. I got my wish t' have yeh forever but part of why I loved that candle was th' fragility of it. I felt like ye didn't need me as much anymore. I went t' see me brothers t' try t' get me head on straight. I missed yeh more, but th' pain was clear an' . . . an' . . . . healin'. I wasn't done greivin' my candle so that I could follow my star."

"Phooka . . ." Matthias breathed, tears stinging his eyes.

"But ye were gone when I came back. I thought I'd lost ye for good. I deserv'd it for takin'off on ye like tha'."

"Phooka, you just had to tell me!" Matthias said. "I still love you, you flaky-ass fairy!"

"Ye do?"

"Of course I do!" Matthias threw his arms around the Irishman and squeezed him tightly. "Idiot! Jerk! Why didn't you tell me how you felt? Did you think I wouldn't understand?"

"I didn't understand it at first . . . ." Phooka said, squeezing his lover back. "I thought 'Til death we do part' maybe that was how it worked. Death we did part. I was so screwed up in th' head over it. I can come back?"

"Just you try to leave," Matty said.

Cupid and kelpie twined hard against each other for a long moment. They pulled back briefly, then kissed under the moonlight.

* * *

William Murderface was not enjoying himself. He'd passed out and woke up on the floor, then when he left his room to go find the others the power was out in the hallway.

At least, that's why he assumed it had turned into a long tunnel with a bright light at the end.

It wasn't his job to worry about keeping the lights on, so he'd gone away from the darkened hallway and found the rest of the band sans Toki drinking around a hot tub. Nathan ignored him when he tried to talk, but Nathan did that sometimes. Murderface never had a lot to say to Skwisgaar at the best of times and certainly not when the Swede was in the 'forget English entirely' stage of drunk. Charles came along a few minutes later and subjected him to the silent treatment as well, but he was probably busy with the news that Toki was a little queer. Like anybody should have been surprised by that.

Pickles still talked to him, though, so that was good.

Murderface decided he was still really drunk, though, because when he'd tried to grab a beer, there was just a moment of confusion and there he was with no beer in his hand while the glass had been picked up by someone else.

After the monster attack Pickles had been dragged off by that . . . thing that looked like a chick and Murderface had run back to the hot tub – the whole way, too, absolutely flat out and he hadn't gotten tired, which was odd – and spilled the whole story of the drummer's kidnapping to Charles.

Who fuckin' ignored him.

That wasn't like the robot at all; even if he was mad, he still listened. Murderface tried howling the story to Nathan, Toki, and even Skwisgaar, but they all looked straight through him.

Frustration starting to give way to uncertainty, Dethklok's bassist cursed his bandmates and stomped back up to his room. He was mildly pleased to see they had fixed the lights in the hallway. William grabbed the door handle to storm into the room and another odd moment of confusion swept over him. He didn't remember the feel of the doorknob in his hand or opening the door or seeing the slash of light from the hall across the dark room, but suddenly he was on the other side of the door, so all that other stuff must have happened.

Right?

He was really – that shouldn't – he must be _wasted_. He'd be more clear-headed in the morning. Yeah . . . yeah, he just needed some sleep. That was it.

Murderface fumbled forward in the dark room. Gradually, he picked out the shape of the bed and flopped down onto it.

William Murderface's eyes snapped open. He knew – _knew_ – he had fallen face-down on the bed and now he was lying on his side spooning with a very naked chick. And cold! Fuck! He was fucking freezing all of a sudden! William shivered hard and hugged the naked chick like she was a super-sized hot water bottle. She made a sleepy little feminine noise and scooted back tighter against him. They had fucked; he could feel the faint stickiness on his dick that indicated he'd rode this particular skank hard and apparently bareback as well. The room was heavy with the scent of sex – why didn't he notice that before? In fact, why couldn't he remember fucking her? He didn't even remember taking his clothes off! He didn't remember bringing a chick back to the room!

Some automatic thought process said he should kick the skank out now that he was done with her but Murderface really, _really_ didn't want to be alone right now. The bass player hugged his mystery bedmate a little tighter.

* * *

"Toki wants to goes home now!" Toki sobbed. "Papa, makes it so we cans goes home!"

"H-hang on, Toki," Charles said, rubbing the young Norwegian's shoulder. "We need to –to find everyone. I feel dizzy. Does anyone else feel dizzy?"

"You're drunk," Nathan said dully. "So what was he if he wasn't an angel?"

"I'm not drunk; I have been drinking," Charles corrected, swaying slightly. "We need to – we need to get everyone back . . . . back together. Pickles . . . . and . . . and . . . and . . . uh . . . Willam! Yes; that's who we need."

"You're fucking drunk," Nathan stated.

Skwisgaar mumbled something in Swedish.

"Skwisgaar wants to lays down now," Toki reported through his tears.

"Yes – fine. Have the Gears stand watch while you sleep. Conway!"

"He gotted eated by der Kracken," Toki reminded his manager.

"Oh. Oh right," Charles slurred. "He . . . uh . . . he might be a few days, then."

"What was he?" Nathan blurted, jumping on the subject as it sailed past.

"I'm . . . I'm . . . calling William," Charles said, dialing the phone with difficultly. This was particularly sad as Murderface was on speed dial. "I . . . ah . . . I think . . . . I think he's in his room."

* * *

William stared at the ringing phone on the nightstand apprehensively. Could he actually pick it up or would the world do that weird skip thing again? Did he even want to talk to anyone right now? The decision was made for him as the chick in his bed reached across the gap and picked up the ringing phone.

Before he could say 'That'sh my phone, bitch!', she showed him the lit-up screen.

"This is who's callin' ya," she said, pointing out Charles' name. "If'n they ain't on your list it'll just show the number. Ya put your finger here an' slide it across t' answer it."

The woman put deed to word, then handed the phone to Murderface. Ooooh-kay . . . crazy chick didn't think he knew how to use a phone.

"Hello?"

"William! I . . . this . . . ah . . . this is . . . . uh . . . ."

"Charlesh?" Murderface offered.

"Yes. Right. Mmm . . . well done. Where are you?"

"I'm . . . I'm in my hotel room," the bass player offered. "With a chick. Are you drunk?"

"I have been drinking," Charles corrected. "I'm just . . . doing a head check. I hadn't seen you since dinner."

"I wash just down there!" Murderface protested. "Not ten fuckin' minutesh ago!"

"I'm fairly certain that you're wrong," the manager stated calmly.

"You're fuckin' drunk!"

The skank in his bed laid her cheek against William's chest with a sigh and seemed to drift off to sleep. She was awfully affectionate for one of his groupies. It was kind of nice to have someone to hug when he was on the verge of freaking out. He'd kick her out in the morning.

"Have you seen Pickles?" Charles asked.

Murderface opened his mouth to blurt out the story of Pickles and the lady-monster, but stopped. Something was weird again. It wasn't world-skip weird but he had been trying to identify the feeling on his right hand for a minute or so. He looked down to see that he was running his hand through his groupie's hair, stroking her cheek, and even playing with her earlobe. Actually, _he_ wasn't doing any of it. His right hand seemed to be doing everything of it's own volition.

As weird feelings went, it was up there.

"Oh, never mind. Here . . . ah . . . here comes Pickles. I'll . . . ah . . . let you get back to it. Good night," Charles hung up the phone.

"'Night," William growled automatically.

Murderface continued to stare at his suddenly-independent appendage as it fondled the skank's earlobe. He could feel everything like he was touching it, but he couldn't get it to stop and lady earlobes were amazingly soft.

Then – he really didn't know how to properly describe what happened next because words were not his thing. His right hand . . . 'saw' him staring at it and pointed a warning finger at Murderface's nose. The hand pointed at the skank sleeping on his chest, then pointed firmly downwards in a 'right here!' motion.

"I musht be sho fuckin' washted," William observed. "Jusht . . . jusht need to shleep it off."

* * *

Pickles was walking back to the gathering around the hot tub, a person on either side of him. Charles didn't recognize Aiden and Nessie Aughisky. In his current state he might not have recognized them even if he had caught the Bograts' concert. He only saw Pickles walking stiffly towards them with a shapely young lady on one arm and a teenaged boy on the other.

The boy struck him as a little odd, but with the way this night was shaping up . . .

"What's all the fuss about?"

Charles looked away from Pickles and his entourage to see the triplets joining the group, looking slightly puzzled. Damn, he had forgotten about them! They were snuggling in front of the TV when the report came on about Toki's sexuality and he'd run out – damn, he knew this was a boys' trip!

Faith raised an eyebrow.

"Charles, are you drunk?"

"I am not drunk!" The manager cried. "I've been drinking! There's a difference!"

"And Toki always has to hold you up, right?" Mercy offered.

Charles looked over at his rhythm guitarist. They had started out with Toki leaning against his shoulder, crying. At some point this had switched to Toki with Charles' arm over his shoulders and the younger man giving most of the support.

"I . . . uh . . . . um . . . . my liver hurts," the manager announced.

Nathan couldn't contain the snicker that burst past his lips.

"Okay, then Charles. How about we all go back to the room and lie down and have a little visit from the medical Gears to make sure you aren't dying of alcohol poisoning?" Faith gestured to some of the nearby hoods to get things started.

"No! No, I . . . I . . . have to . . . no . . . . . . . Pickles! Have to check on Pickles first."

"Pickles is fine!" Hope interjected. "See; he's right here! Aren't you fine, Pickles?"

"Y-Yes," Pickles squeaked. "Fine."

The drummer's smile was more like a forced death rictus. There was panic in his eyes and his shoulders were stiff.

"Oh. Um. Good. Huuuuuhhhh . . . maybe I had better lie down . . ." Charles mumbled.

"Mr. Offdensen! Can I bend yer ear before ye go t' sleep?" Nessie blurted, lunging forward.

A business card appeared in her hand as if by magic.

"Nessie Aughisky, manageress for th' Bograts. I've been discussin' things wit' Pickles here and he seems t' think—"

Nessie cut off sharply as Charles held up a 'just a minute' finger, then leaned over and puked. Hope sighed.

"That's the second time this trip I've had my feet thrown up on."

Charles straightened.

"All right; continue."

"I think you've done enough business for tonight, Big Daddy," Mercy said trying to steer Toki and Charles away from Nessie.

"'Big Daddy?' Oh my fucking God," Nathan chortled. "Wrong."

"It won't take but a second!" Nessie protested.

"'Big Daddy'? I . . . I . . . oh . . . shomebody needs some attention, don't they?" Charles slurred in what he imagined was a sexy way.

Nathan had both hands pressed over his face while his shoulders shook with suppressed mirth. Mercy opened her mouth to say she didn't think Charles was capable of standing upright by himself, realized saying this would be a total waste of effort and simply nodded.

"Um . . yes, that's right, darling; sure. Let's get upstairs, shall we?"

"Eager little minx, ishn't she?" Charles slurred in a stage whisper to Toki. "Looks so prim an' proper but get her shtarted and she fucks like a bunny."

Nathan gave up any semblance of self control and howled with laughter. Toki didn't look pleased to be on the receiving end of this information. Mercy turned the same color as her dress.

"_CHARLES!_"

"Gotta . . . gotta go; she wants me," the manager told Toki.

To Pickles' surprise, he heard Aiden humming under his breath.

"_Yer're promising th' ladies a night of lovin' bliss_

_But truth be told, yer're far too drunk _

_T' stand up straight 'n' piss!_

_So give it up, yeh fuckin' wino cunt, ye'll not get laid._

_An' th' sooner you are out th' door, th' quicker we'll be paid!"_

In spite of the mortal terror he was feeling, the drummer snorted. Nessie heard this foul-mouthed byplay and made one last, desperate lunge for her goal.

"Any chance I could join th' party, luv?"

Charles stopped and looked around at the Irish woman.

"Egg-excushe me?"

"Well, three ladies at yer beck an' call might be nice, but four would be even better," the female kelpie purred.

Charles blinked owlishly at the manageress. Mercy was turning red again, but this time it looked like anger. Even Hope's mouth was hanging open in shock. Faith was just returning with the medical Gears.

"Ah. Miss . . . Miss Augustine, was it?"

"'Aughisky'," Nessie corrected under her breath.

"That'sh what I shaid. And if I took up the offer of every desperate, painted woman who wanted to whore hershelf for power, my harem would make King Solomon blush with shame. We are a closhed quad, thank you. Good night."

Charles attempted to stride off gracefully, tripped over a step and would have hit the pavement face first if Mercy and Hope hadn't lunged in from the side and cushioned his fall. A few Gears lifted the limp CFO and started carrying him upstairs. The triplets followed behind, Mercy still fuming over Charles' vulgar description of her sexual appetite.

Toki and Nathan followed them, Nathan still laughing hysterically over Charles' vulgar description of Mercy's sexual appetite.

Nessie turned back around to face Aiden and Pickles, her face a mask of white-hot rage.

Aiden snorted and burst out laughing at his big sister.

"He saw you comin' a mile away, didn't 'e?" he howled.

"Shut up, Aiden!" Nessie roared. Her voice had deeper inflections and echoes than it should have. Pickles could swear he saw shapes writhing under her dress.

"Ooooooh, Gahd, I'm gonna die . . . . " he whimpered.

"Keep an eye on th' meal ticket," Nessie ordered, stalking off into the night.

"Yeh gonna go blow some bloke fer internet access?" the younger kelpie inquired cheerfully.

Nessie paused in mid stalk, flexed her neck to the side and kept going. Aiden snickered as if he hadn't just nearly driven his sister into a homicidal rage and turned to Pickles.

"Ah well. I guess we're bunkin' up tonight!"


	17. Chapter 17

Charles dreamed. He was looking for the band. It seemed like that was all he did; look for the band, look after the boys, protect them, enable them. . . Not for the first time did he wonder why he was driven to serve Dethklok.

He heard familiar voices through the jungle and hurried towards them.

"Huh. Here he is. I told you he'd make it," Nathan growled.

"Dethklok's dog," Skwisgaar snorted.

"Bloody CuChulainn all over again," Pickles murmured, but the drummer smiled when he said it.

Dethklok's creative powerhouses were sitting around a slab of stone, playing a game. For a second, Charles thought they were playing chess, but a second glance showed shiny round playing pieces, almost like go.

Charles took a long look at his charges. Undeniably, they were Nathan Explosion, Skwisgaar Skwigelf, and Pickles the Drummer.

Nathan was wearing a feather headdress, the skin of a jaguar and lots of blue paint. He seemed . . . more intelligent than normal, although Charles wasn't sure how.

Skwisgaar lounged on his side of the stone slab, draped in white silks and gold decorations. One of his eyes was gone. Instead of a patch or glass replacement, Skwisgaar's right eye was a black void. He had also had managed to say two words correctly, which made Charles uneasy for some odd reason.

Pickles was practically poured over the slab on his side. He seemed normal – well, normal for Pickles – except for the small fact that his dreads had all become red-skinned tentacles. He grinned at Charles and used a dreadacle to move one of his playing pieces, which now looked like those little pewter figurines used in role-playing games.

These guys weren't Nathan, Skwisgaar and Pickles. They weren't, but they were, but—Abruptly, Charles realized that this made perfect sense, but he had forgotten why. The reason dangled just out of recollection, but hell, he was on vacation, not to mention really drunk.

Why stress over it?

"It's good you boys are having fun," Charles announced. "Have you seen Toki or William?"

The three men gathered around the game board reacted to his realization. They relaxed slightly, exchanging glances. Skwisgaar gestured to a small trail snaking into the jungle.

"Toki is down that way. I believe he's playing with your wives," the blond stated.

"Yeah, it's nice you were concerned about them," Nathan said pointedly.

"I can turn my back on them for five minutes and not have all Hell break loose," Charles returned, letting the 'wives' comment slide. "They're _capable_."

Pickles sniggered at this.

"We wouldn't want Hell to break loose," Skwisgaar announced, studying his cards. "Hell should stay right where it is."

The other two murmured agreement. Charles ignored this cryptic comment and started down the path.

Barely two steps into the woods the temperature plummeted sharply. A few more steps and snow was crunching under Charles' shoes. The jungle was gone, replaced by pine forest. Just ahead, he could hear the tinkling laughter of children. A figure stood at a bend in the trail, draped in a dark cloak. The person had their back to Charles and there should have been no way he could know who it was, but the blood-red spill of fabric told him all he needed.

"Mercy."

The hood of the cloak turned, revealing the face of the middle triplet. There was a circle of gold around her brow and her hair was loose and spilling down the slope of her breasts. She wore a long, red dress that looked perfectly natural with a cloak over it, but what really caught Charles' eye was the fact that she was pregnant. Some part of him pointed out that he really should be surprised by this, seeing as how she was easily in her third trimester. Another part pointed out that this was a dream. Still another part seemed to think this made perfect sense as well, if he only had the eyes to see why.

Charles ignored the different thoughts clambering for attention and greeted Mercy with a gentle kiss and a gentler hand on her swollen belly.

"There you are," she said happily. "I knew you'd be joining us."

"You . . . . ah . . . . you know me; I can't rest until I know where my family is," Charles said lightly.

Mercy beamed at this declaration and kissed him lightly again.

"Well, Hope and Toki are here," she said, turning back the way she had been facing.

Running across a small clearing in the forest were a girl and a little boy. Charles wondered who they were for about half a second. Then he realized that he had seen the boy before – in a picture of Toki as a child. Again, dream logic pointed out that Toki would prefer to live his childhood over again, so as long as no one else minded, this should be perfectly okay.

"Papa!" Toki squealed, running straight for Charles.

Hot on his heels was a girl of twelve or thirteen. Charles had never seen her exact image before, but he'd be in bad shape if he couldn't recognize that odd blend of Asian and Caucasian features, that broad grin, and the telltale mole under her right eye.

Strangely enough, Charles first thought this time wasn't that Hope wasn't really a pubescent girl, but rather an uncomfortable realization that he had done things to her you weren't supposed to do with girls her age.

The part of him that seemed to be at ease here scoffed at the thought that Charles had done anything wrong. Obviously he hadn't made love to her when she was this age; he had waited until Hope was older, like Time was a two-way street you could backtrack.

Toki tripped on something under the snow and sprawled on his belly. Hope stopped her headlong flight towards Charles and headed back to pull Toki to his feet and brush the snow from his clothes.

"_Takk, storesøster_," he told her.

"Be careful; you'll catch cold," Mercy said, starting towards the pair. "Here; put your cloaks on."

"Awwwww, we're still playing!" Hope protested.

"_Jeg vil ikke!_" Toki agreed.

"We're going to go find Faith and William," Mercy said. "Charles wants to see everyone."

Mercy produced two cloaks from under her red cape and handed them to Hope. Hope swirled the green one around her own shoulders, then buckled the smaller black one around Toki's throat. They started back across the clearing. Toki took two steps and tripped again.

"Here, hold my hand," Hope ordered.

"_Takk, storesøster_."

"Mine, too," Charles said, taking Toki's other hand.

Little Toki beamed up at him, Mercy took Charles' free hand and they made their way down the path. It seemed like only two more steps and Toki was now a teenager, wispy bits of beard fighting through his smooth skin. Charles looked around him to Hope, who had also done some growing in the last couple of seconds. She still looked young enough to get you arrested, but not murdered in prison.

That was a relief.

A small sound made Charles look around. Mercy wasn't holding his hand any longer because she was holding two babies swaddled in red cloth. She looked tired, but that was to be expected after giving birth to twins in .03 seconds.

"Oh here; let me . . ." Charles began, taking a baby from her.

"Toki's der gotses de littles brother!" The young Norwegian exclaimed in delight, now looking close to his true age. Hope's rapid growth seemed to have slowed, but she looked somewhere in the 18-21 range.

"Two little brothers," Mercy corrected.

The child in her arms was now a toddler, a blond haired little boy sleeping against her shoulder. When Charles looked down, the twin he was holding was the same age, this little one with brown hair and sleepy blue eyes.

"If we don't find Faith and William soon, I'll be a grandfather," he joked.

Toki stumbled on the path again. Hope turned to help him.

"Can't see, _storesøster,"_ Toki said.

"Hold onto my shoulder and I'll guide you," Hope instructed.

Toki was now older; somewhere in his late thirties but Hope seemed to be backtracking again. She looked more like a fifteen year old. The twins raced through the trees, laughing and playing tag as ten year old boys should. Charles was starting to wonder if they'd ever find Faith and William when they reached the end of the trail.

A dark cave belched cold mist into the forest. Just before the opening was another game slab. Two figures sat around this one. One was draped in a midnight blue cloak. A fat white braid hung out of the cowl.

"Faith," Charles said with a smile.

The cowl tilted back to reveal the eldest triplet's face. She was eldest in every sense of the word, now; her hair gone white and face lined with fine wrinkles.

"You've come a long way, love," she said. "Was it worth the trip?"

"You know me," Charles said. "I'm . . . ah . . . I'm not happy until my family is together. And if this is a glimpse of what awaits us, then I'm happy to have seen it. You're still beautiful."

Faith's faced creased further in a smile.

"Thanksh for notisching me, asshole," Murderface growled.

"Hello, William," Charles sighed. "You . . . ah . . . you appear to be dead."

"I'm not fucking dead! How would I be playin' thish dumb game if I were dead? Whoshe turn ish it?"

"Yours," Faith said.

"It's just that . . . uh you're half skeletonized," Charles protested.

Murderface looked down at himself. The right half of his body was wasted into a skeleton; dried strips of flesh clinging to the bleached bones. Skin that had once bulged with cellulite now hung loose, stretched out like a deflated balloon. Charles caught a slight buzzing sound on the edge of his hearing; on closer inspection, it was coming from a solid black mass that weaved in and out between Murderface's exposed ribs. Charles felt the bile rise in his throat as he realized the mass was made entirely out of flies.

Hope whimpered and cringed against his side. Two more figures pressed against Charles' shoulders. The twin boys were now lanky teenagers, peering at Murderface with something akin to horror.

"I'm . . . well . . . oh. . . . It'sh okay, she'sh fixing it," the bass player said dismissively.

Charles peered around the corpse of William Murderface. There was a creature crouching behind the stone he sat on. William had said 'she' and Charles would have to take his word for it. He was also going to guess she was human under all that filth. The . . . . person was dressed in muck-splattered fur and rags. Her skin was so filthy it was hard to tell what color it was to start with; a greenish tinge said some of that mud wasn't mud at all. It was likely the only reason Charles couldn't smell her from where he stood was that the scent of William's decaying flesh overpowered it. The woman was reaching into the putrid, rotting mass that was all that remained of Murderface's internal organs and coaxing half-solid flesh from the black ichor. Using twine that she cut to length with her own teeth, the woman was carefully tying the rotted organs back into place using William's ribs as a framework.

Charles wasn't a doctor, but he was certain it would take more than that to 'fix' dead.

The woman saw him staring and shuffled further behind Murderface.

"Papa? I have to go now," Toki announced.

Charles finally tore his gaze away from the dirt woman. Toki was older, in his later thirties or early forties. And he was completely blind. His already pale blue eyes were clouded and milky. He'd found a long stick somewhere to feel his way around.

"Thank you for being my papa. You did a good job, even as an aftermarket father," Toki joked, hugging him.

"I . . . uh . . where are you going?" Charles asked.

Toki hugged Mercy, Hope and the twins, thanking each of them in turn for being his family.

"I have to go to where I belong now, Charles," Toki said, feeling his way around the game stone. "Ah, thank you, _bestemor_."

He gave Faith a hug, felt around the stone, then took his cane and whacked Murderface upside the head with it.

"Motherfucker!" William howled, some of his guts spilling out of his pants. "What the fuck wash that for?"

"For all the times you got me into trouble," Toki said, chuckling. "When you come to my kingdom, we will do it all again. Goodbye."

"Just for that I ain't coming to your fucking kingdom!" Murderface bellowed.

Toki ignored him and walked into the cave. Almost as soon as he passed under the stone arch, blackness claimed him utterly.

"Toki?" Charles called.

There was no answer. Charles frowned and picked his way around the game stone to approach the cave entrance.

"Toki?"

"Charles, don't go in there," Faith called.

"I have to find Toki," he said, heading into the cave.

Charles was dimly aware of shouts behind him, but suddenly they were muffled. The cave was dim, but not totally black. Charles could see what looked like tree roots – massive tree roots – forming the walls.

"Charles? You aren't supposed to be here," Toki announced.

The rhythm guitarist suddenly looked about eight feet tall and broad. A young woman, of similarly freakish height, was laying a black fur across his shoulders. She was beautiful, in a frail, pale kind of way. In fact, she was so pale of skin she might have just gotten out of a coffin.

"I – I need to check on you," Charles protested. "I need to watch my family."

Toki smiled beatifically.

"Charles – Papa, you will always be close to me. But this isn't your place. You need to leave now."

"But –"

"Your other sons need you," Toki stated.

"I –"

"DAD!"

Strong arms wrapped around Charles from behind. He got a brief glimpse of blond hair before they were both jerked back out of the cave. Charles sprawled on the ground with his rescuer. A young man of similar build and features, only this one with dark hair, stood over them holding a rope tied around the blond man's waist. It still didn't even dawn on Charles who the young men were until he saw his own eyes staring back at him.

His sons had pulled him out of the cave. His sons . . . . _his_ sons? _He had sons?_ These two men were the little babies Mercy had been holding – _Mercy had his babies?_

"What the fuck are you doing here?"

Conway was back. Well, since he was wearing yards of floating pink fabric, had his wings uncased and was surrounded by a divine glow, he'd probably prefer to be called Cupid at this point.

Charles pointed a shaky finger at him.

"If you aren't back to the hotel by tonight, you're fired!" the manager announced.

Cupid's jaw sagged open. He shook himself and pointed right back at Charles.

"You don't belong here!" he snapped. "Go back!"

Charles opened eyes he didn't remember closing. He immediately cringed at the bright light streaming through the windows. Oh . . . oh God . . . . oh kill him now; it was better than the hangover jackhammering the inside of his skull. The manager groaned and rubbed his face, only to flinch at the sudden sharp pain in his arm. What the . . ? Why did he have an IV in his arm?

"Oh good, you did survive," a sweet voice observed.

Still squinting at the punishing light, Charles looked over to see Faith sitting in a chair next to his bed. He appeared to be in some sort of infirmary.

"Next time you find life too much to bear, please rethink drinking yourself to death," the eldest triplet stated. "You could always run away with us and be our kept man."

Faith . . . there was something about Faith – the braid hanging over her shoulder kicked Charles in the memory.

"I had a really strange dream," he rasped. "You were in it. And the boys. And Hope and Mercy –"

"It was probably your brain dying by slow inches," Faith said soothingly. "Seriously, alcohol poisoning is an ugly way to go."

Charles grumbled and pulled the covers up over his head. Something about death and darkness also tickled a memory.

"Send some medical Gears to check on Toki and see if his eyes are bothering him again," Charles rasped.

"Toki has eye problems?"

"He was blind in one eye from a detached retina when he joined the band. We . . . ah . . . . I think it was all the abuse from when he was a kid. He's had surgery on both eyes at this point."

Faith got up from her chair and went to speak with the doctor. Charles realized he'd been ordering her around like she was a Gear – or his assistant. The triplets were putting up with so much this trip. What sweeties.

"Sorry to be so brusque," he murmured when she returned. "I will make it up to you later, I swear."

"Charles . . . . how much do you love us?" Faith asked.

Mercy asking that question would be looking for coddling and reassurance. If Hope said it, she usually wanted to be spoiled with a treat. For Faith to ask it . . .

"What did you do?" Charles demanded.

"It wasn't our idea!" Faith said quickly. "Apparently _you_ had your assistant set up a press conference before he died horribly. Well, the press showed up this morning. Toki refused to go in front of the camera. So did Nathan and we couldn't even wake you or Pickles up and I remember you said Skwisgaar never did his own public speaking because he didn't like it when people made fun of his accent."

"So?" Charles prompted.

"S-so Mercy's used to public speaking . . ." Faith said, her voice rising in distress. "It was Nathan's idea!"

Charles stared at her for a long moment, then forced himself to relax. Mercy . . . Mercy did have charm _and_ she was used to speaking to juvenile minds. There probably wasn't a better choice for an impromptu speaker.

"Ah . . . ah . . . I . . . all right. That's . . . ah . . . . that's fine. Yes. So Nathan told her about the 'language barrier' story, right?"

Faith stared at him. Charles reflected that he really didn't like seeing that 'deer in the headlights' look on her. Also, a muscle at the corner of her mouth twitched when she was on the verge of panicking.

"Uh . . . N-Nathan didn't say anything about a story," Faith said weakly. "Toki told Mercy . . . . Toki told Mercy to come out for him."

Charles put a hand over his face.

"Could you tell Mercy that I'd like to speak to her as soon as possible, please?" he asked with deadly calm.


	18. Chapter 18

Ben jerked out of a sound sleep and sat up sharply. He ran a hand over his chest, checking to see that, yes, he was in charge of this body. The oaf must have been able to take control because he was sleeping. Foolish, foolish . . . foolish and overconfident! For half a second, he thought he should have waited for Dixie's spell, but then William would be dead. The dead were useless and another suitable vessel wouldn't be along for a very long time.

Dixie . . . .

Ben turned and caressed her bare shoulder gently. The red-haired witch still slept, but turned towards the kiss he laid on her cheek with a small smile.

His beloved titian . . . one lifetime was simply not enough.

A lifetime . . . he didn't have a lifetime with her to begin with: only a little over two years. A slight smile curved his lips when he remembered their meeting. The Yankees were paranoid about spies and saboteurs among Confederate civilians; probably because there were so many. Confederate civilians that didn't make their feelings known to the Northern invaders – even by the mildest means necessary – often simply lacked the opportunity.

In her previous life, Dixie wasn't a saboteur or a spy – she was simply a thief. The Union soldiers had supplies and food and robbing from them was an act of patriotism. Billy Yank had caught her pilfering flour from the supply wagons.

She was no spy and the Union knew it. They still tried to trade her for prisoners of war, which is how the Confederates knew she wasn't a spy. Spies of either side were hanged as a matter of course. The Federals simply found themselves short of Confederate officers and tried to bluff. However obvious the ruse, Brigadier General Benjamin Franklin Cheatham wasn't about to let a lady stay in custody.

Once back in the Confederate camp, she promptly told him every Union plot she had overheard and all of the supply and ammunition caches throughout the city.

It seemed as though in no time she had charmed her way into his tent. At first he simply wrote her attentions off as a woman trying to elevate her position in life, but he came to depend on her more and more as the war wore on. One night the battle had raged until nightfall. Ben, out chasing down fleeing Union cavalry, was forced to camp in the woods with a few lieutenants.

When he returned to camp he had found Dixie – then named Prudence – had spent all night searching the battlefield for him. Her petticoats were so saturated with blood she could hardly walk.

Such devotion was worth waiting for. And he wasn't about to let this William Murderface idiot endanger their reunion. He would have to make sure he was the first one awake from now on, that was all. Simple enough.

Ben kissed Dixie once more, then rolled out of bed and stretched luxuriously. Oh, to have a body again! To feel the carpet under his toes! The sunlight streaming through the window lit up his skin. Even the ache of his sore muscles was welcome.

Ache? Why did his muscles ache? He had done nothing more strenuous than carry Dixie a few hundred yards and then make love to her for several hours. Ben looked down at his borrowed body, noting the flabby stomach and noodle-like arms.

This simply wouldn't do.

The gut he didn't mind so much, but he needed to be strong. Without further ado, Ben dropped to the floor and began to do press ups. His arms were burning by the fifth, screaming by the tenth, and collapsed on him entirely by the fifteenth.

Everything started small; he'd just have to keep up a routine and soon he'd have nothing to be ashamed of. Except for theses rather inane tattooes. Ah well; in these times they were commonplace. He'd learn to live with them.

Ben picked himself up off of the carpet and went into the bathroom for a shower. Oh, endless hot water was a luxury he'd never get tired of. He scrubbed the sweat and dried fluids from his skin, combed his hair and slicked it back with a bottle of lotion the hotel provided. That done, he wrapped himself in a fluffy white towel and stepped out onto the balcony to take in the sun.

Hmmm; there seemed to be some sort of commotion going on in the courtyard. People milled around with cameras, glancing continually at an empty podium set up at one end of the space.

Oh, a press conference.

Ben had spent a lot of time watching TV. There wasn't much else to do when you didn't sleep.

A few of the people in the courtyard pointed up at the balcony. Ben nodded at them. After a moment he went back inside and called for room service. He had never actually used a phone before, but there was a handy guide printed on it. Now that he thought about it, he was sorry he had missed rotary phones. Those looked like fun to operate.

Ben went back out onto the balcony while he waited and watched the antics as the press conference began.

* * *

Mercy mounted the dias, giving the assembled reporters a blinding smile.

"Thank you all for coming," she said in a tone that dripped with sugar. "I'm Mercy Noh and I'm here to talk to you about Toki Wartooth."

A few camera flashes went off, but most of the press waited in rapt attention.

"Last night, as Toki was approaching an old friend, Nathan Explosion came under the impression that Toki had a sexual relationship with the gentleman. This is true."

Camera flashes erupted, along with a babble of questions. Mercy made a few 'settle down' motions with her hands. To her surprise, it worked.

"Though he still wishes to find a _woman_ to love and start a family with, Toki does have the occasional fling with a man."

The small crowd fairly roared at this statement.

"Peter Christopherson, _CNN_," one reporter cried, leaping up. "Are you saying that Toki Wartooth is gay?"

"No," Mercy said calmly. "If he liked men _exclusively_, then he would be gay. Toki likes man _as well_ as women, which makes him bisexual, not gay."

Another babble of voices. Mercy realized that the reporters in the front row were holding up their hands like eager students who couldn't wait to answer the question. She pointed at one randomly.

"Christine Woods, _Reuters News_. Toki Wartooth is the band member most likely to come in contact with children. How does his new sexuality impact them?"

"Quite possibly they may realize that a person's sexuality matters less than their character," Mercy said. "Toki has been bisexual all along, he's just decided that he no longer wants to hide it."

"Does this mean the Skank Patrol is going to start taking men?" Someone yelled from the back.

A titter ran through the crowd. The middle triplet joined in out of sheer relief.

"Quite possibly! We're still figuring out the logistics," she laughed.

"Are any of the other band members gay?"

"Not to my knowledge," Mercy said. "Just from personal experience with the band, I'm inclined to say 'Definitely not!'"

"What about Charles Offdensen?"

It was a fight not to laugh outright at that statement, but she managed to keep her cool. Seven years teaching second graders was wonderful training, especially when you had a reputation as the 'cool teacher' who would answer sticky questions.

"The CFO of Dethklok is heterosexual, no ifs, ands, or buts," she said simply.

"Why isn't Mr. Offdensen giving this press conference?"

"Because Mr. Offdensen is on vacation," Mercy said. "And as a symbol of what a non-issue he considers this matter, he delegated the press conference to me."

That sounded so much better than 'he's upstairs in an alcohol-induced coma but the doctors say he'll live.'

"Who are you?"

"I'm Mercy Noh; I believe I said that already."

"Who are you to be giving press conferences on behalf of Dethklok?" The same reporter snapped.

"I'm part of a small, family-run firm that is representing Dethklok's interests in a real estate matter. We were on the island to run a few matters by Nathan Explosion. Neither Mr. Offdensen nor Mr. Wartooth felt like putting down their drinks long enough to make the statement."

The reporter didn't look satisfied, but didn't ask any further questions.

"But _why?_" A young female reporter said plaintively. "Toki Wartooth could have any woman he wanted! Why would he want to have sex with _men_?"

"Well, I like sex with men," Mercy said, earning another polite round of chuckles. "I suppose it's a bit like food. You can have the finest sushi the world – and he does like sushi – but after you have it day after day after day, it really gives you a craving for a big, greasy burger."

"Does Toki realize how this will affect his public image?"

"What? You think people will think he's a limp-wristed pansy now? If you like, I suppose we could arrange some sort of bare-knuckle boxing match between the two of you to prove he's still manly . . ." Mercy said, rubbing her chin.

Another chuckle swept through the crowd as the reporter back away, shaking his head. Though she gave the impression of being totally at ease with the crowd, it was just at this point that Mercy started to relax. This press conference thing wasn't so bad; parent-teacher conferences were worse than this!

"Toki Wartooth will lose the support of a lot of parents who don't want their children to have a g – a _bisexual_ role model!" The same reporter who had mentioned children before offered.

"Really? They're okay with the death metal, drinking, fighting, drugs, car chases, shooting at the cops, and legions of _female_ groupies but the thought that he kisses men too is going to be the last straw?" Mercy asked. "Toki's a _horrible_ role model. They're all horrible role models! Where have you been for the last ten years?"

"Has Toki ever had sex with Skwisgaar?" a woman called from the back.

Mercy did laugh, then. She put a hand to her lips to stop the short bark of laughter.

"I'm – I'm sorry, that was terribly unprofessional," she said, trying not to giggle. "I seriously doubt it. As hot as that would be to watch, I don't think they'd ever hook up even if they were both into guy-on-guy. They kind of hate each other, to be honest. I think Scandinavian solidarity is the only thing that keeps them together."

"Is there any chance of Toki answering a few questions?" someone yelled.

"Yeah; what's his type?"

Mercy peered back over her shoulder as the crowd laughed again. Toki was lurking behind a row of Gears, trying to stay out of line of any cameras. He didn't look as worried as he had before the press conference started, but he still shook his head.

"I'm sorry, Toki is way too busy working on his tan. Thank you all for your time and try the red snapper while you're here; it's simply divine."

Mercy flashed another million-kilowatt smile and stepped off the dias.

"Whoo! Well, that wasn't so bad," she said, leaving the press conference behind. "I thought it went rather well! What did you think?"

Toki left the row of Gears behind, trusting them to keep the paparazzi at bay.

"You dids a goods job!" He said cheerfully. "You maked it seems like so no such bigs deal to fucks guys sometimes."

"You liked that 'eat all the sushi you want and sometimes you still want a big, greasy burger', huh? Good. Have you eaten yet? Want to have breakfast?"

"Sure! Nobody else ams ups yet."

"Nathan woke up long enough to tell us to f—that he wasn't going to help," Mercy sighed.

"Ackally, he said he was helpings, we just couldn'ts tells yet," Toki said.

"Act-u-ally," the middle triplet corrected before she could stop herself.

"Acts-u-allys," Toki repeated.

"Much better. Let's eat by the pool."

The settled in on a small table by the pool and a waiter took their order.

"I likeses you; you is nice," Toki said without preamble.

"Awww, thank you, sweetie!" Mercy cooed. "I like you, too; you're very nice."

"You wantses to bes mine Mama?"

Mercy wouldn't think a mood could turn so quickly.

"Uh-"

"I means, nots for real," Toki said. "Doctors Twinkletits says I re-regrets to childs-likes states to counsteracts psychos-logicals scarrings froms severe abuse. He says its ams goods for me."

"Ooooh. Oh, so you're just role-playing with Charles and 'Papa' and . . . oh, that's a relief. Sure! I'll play Toki's Mom when I'm around."

"When yous around? You nots coming back to Mordhaus?"

"Well, that depends on Charles—EEP!" Mercy suddenly yelped as jet of cold water hit her on the leg. She quickly looked around to the source. "Damn it, Hope, that was cold!"

Hope peered over the rim of the pool.

"You're no fun!" she declared.

"We eatings breakfast!" Toki said. "Wants to joins us?"

"In a minute; I'm still swimming. How'd the press conference go?"

"Goods! Mercy . . . hehe . . . Mercy mades it sounds likes no bigs deal." Toki chuckled as Hope continued to splash at her sister's legs.

"It wasn't as . . . nggh . . . bad as some parent-teacher conferences I've done. Damn it, Hope! Knock it off!"

"Make me," Hope said with a grin.

The youngest triplet yelped as she was splashed with water. Toki tried to mime drinking out of a now-empty water glass.

"There was ice in that, you dick!" Hope said. "Eeek, it's still stuck in my hair! Help me out so I can get it out!"

"Sorries, Toki just wanted to—"

The young Norwegian muttered something in his native tongue as Hope pulled him into the pool.

"I can't believe he fell for that," Mercy sighed.

Toki surfaced, spluttering. He zeroed in on Hope and sent a splash her way that would have burst dikes. The green-clad triplet spit out a mouthful of water and splashed him back. In the next second, the pool was full of splashing, squealing, and laughter.

Mercy lifted her chair and moved around to the other side of the table.

"Don't make me separate you two!" she called.

The pair ignored her, letting the schoolteacher turn her attention back to the menu.

"Mercy!"

Faith was making her way through the tables, looking significantly more distressed than normal.

"Over here, Faith!" Mercy called. "What's the matter? Is something wrong with Charles?"

"Charles is awake and . . . well . . . apparently he had a plan for handling Toki's bisexual nature that didn't involve announcing it to the press."

"Ah. Did he tell Toki that?" Mercy asked.

"I don't think so," Faith admitted. "But he's _pissed_."

"At whom?" Mercy asked. "At me? We were dropped right in the middle of it and did the best we could to cover Dethklok – including Charles' – collective ass and he's pissed at _me_?"

"He said he wanted a _word_ with you," Faith said.

"Oh, that's good," Mercy growled. "Because I feel like having a _word_ with him. Let's go have some _words_."

The schoolteacher got out of her chair and strode into the hotel. Faith followed her, pausing when she saw paparazzi snapping photos. It turned out that they were taking pictures of Murderface. The band's bass player was making out with a redhead on his balcony.

The sound of a door slamming forcefully brought Faith back to the task at hand. The eldest triplet hurried after her sister.


	19. Chapter 19

"Oi! Wake up, mate."

Pickles snorted and woke with a jerk. Aiden Aughisky was bending over him, hotel phone in one hand.

"I'm orderin' breakfast. Ye want any?"

The drummer rubbed his face frantically, hardly believing he'd actually fallen asleep with a man-eating fairy in the room. Aiden looked perfectly human at the moment.

"Breakfast?" Pickles echoed.

"Yeh, if ye kin call it tha' . . . . nobody in this country would know a proper black puddin' if it hit 'em."

"Cinnamon buns?" Pickles asked.

"You lot know how t' do cinnamon buns?" The young man grilled room service. "Oh, tha' you kin do? Right, send up four plates. What ye want t' drink?"

"Beer?"

"Wit' cinnamon buns? Blech. T'ree glasses a' milk an' a beer. Yeah, fer breakfast. It's what he wants. Right then so." Aiden hung up. "It'll be up in a few."

"Why'd ya order four plates?" Pickles asked.

"I'm hungry," Aiden said simply.

Pickles curled up into a defensive ball at the head of the bed.

"Oh, relax; I only need t' eat human once every other week or so. Once a month if I'm slimmin'."

"Slimmin'?" Pickles echoed.

"Yeah . . . y'know; on a diet."

The red-haired drummer let out a giggle that wasn't entirely sane.

"Yeh kin relax," the seemingly young man said. "We aren' goin' t' eat _you_. Yeh're Pickles th' Drummer."

The ginger relaxed a hair.

"You're not gonna – but what if somethin' gets fucked up and you don't get your . . . . your . . . bodies or . . . or . . . souls or whatever you're gonna get off the crowds."

"Shite happens," Aiden said with a shrug.

Pickles relaxed another iota.

"So . . . so . . . . what kinda fairies are you guys?"

"We're kelpies," Aiden said, sitting on the end of the bed.

"The horses? I thought they just dunked people in water. I thought it was phookas that ate them."

"It's actually one in th' same," Aiden said with a grin. "Depends on how hungry we are."

Pickles let out a tiny shudder, but still considered the youth sitting on the bed.

"So . . . how old are you?" the drummer asked.

"Seventeen," Aiden answered.

Pickles gave him a dubious look.

"In Fae years . . ." the young kelpie amended.

"How long is dat in human years?"

"Uh . . ._pfft_ . . . what year is it again? Um . . . two hundred an' thirteen, I think."

"Wow. Shit. Wow," Pickles muttered. "And th' others, they're – they look older than you, so . . .what, they're like five hundred?"

"As near as we kin figure, Padraig is somewhere in th' area of 5,200 years old. He's th' eldest," Aiden answered. "They didn't really track time all tha' well back then. Th' others came along in th' next five hundred years. Then we had a biiiiiiiiiig gap an' I wasnea born from th' waters until 1799."

"Dood. That's . . . . dood. So . . . if you're a teenager by Sidhe standards, does that means you were just acting like a douchebag kid for the last two hundred years?"

Aiden stared at him for a moment, then rubbed his head.

"I'm not a douchebag – look, it was just like bein' a human only longer! I was born from th' waters lookin' like a li'l bundle of teeth an' tentacles. Nessie an' Phooka raised me for a while – taught me how t' change shape an' lure humans away from th' group, how t' hunt, how t' make me first kill. I only look like a li'l shaver at first – just a toddler when I could first take human form. Nessie an' Phooka us'd me fer bait."

"Oh Gahd . . ." Pickles whispered. "Issat . . . issat like th' old stories where they'd lure women int' th' woods by soundin' like a cryin' baby an' then rape 'em or eat 'em?"

Aiden blinked for a minute.

"Rape -? Phooka's _gay_ an' Nessie's a woman! Yeh met 'er last night!"

"Oh, yeah."

"Look, it isnea like th' old stories; we wouldnea eat just _anybody_. That's one a' th' first things they taught me about huntin' – take only bastards."

"W-what?" Pickles asked, laughing in spite of himself.

"Okay – yeh've got two men. One's good an' hardworkin' and goes t' church or whatever, loves his neighbors an' all that rot. Yer other man, now he's a right bastard. Drinks, brawls, beats his wife an' kids, makes everybody in town's life a livin' hell; just yer basic scum a' th' earth. When yer first man goes missin' people search for him. They rake th' moors and dredge ponds. His widow wanders th' night, pinin' for her lost love. It's bloody annoying."

Another snort of laughter escaped the drummer.

"An' it kin be dangerous if yer're too careless. Once people notice there's something draggin' people t' their doom, they want t' git rid o' it. They hunt th' night wi' iron bells an' crucifixes."

"Whoa. Really?"

"I wasnea alive fer th' worst o' it. Phooka an' Nessie had t' leave Ireland. But if you pick th' bastard, most people say 'Good riddance!' and they're missin' persons nobody misses."

"I don't know many bastards who'd go lookin' fer a lost child," Pickles said doubtfully.

"Who said I played a lost child?" Aiden asked. "Phooka'd dress me up in silks an' lace an' troll th' brothels. 'Evenin' squire, lookin' for somethin' sweet? Have a look at me dear boy here; he's young an' fresh. Only one guinea for an hour!' Then th' scum'd run t' be alone wit' th' two o' us."

Pickles gave a long, full body shudder, his face twisting in disgust. Someone knocked on the door. The young kelpie got up to answer it. He came back a minute later with a tray bearing four plates of cinnamon rolls, three glasses of milk, and a beer.

"Breakfast is served!"

Pickles took the beer and watched impassively as Aiden downed three of the cinnamon rolls and chased them with the milk. The young kelpie eyed Pickles' untouched plate.

"Yeh gonna eat that?" He inquired.

Dethklok's drummer slid the plate towards him, still lost in what passed for thought. Aiden ate the final cinnamon roll, then flopped down onto the bed, patting his full stomach. For the first time Pickles didn't flinch away from him.

"So . . . uh . . . how long are yeh gonna be hangin' out?" the ginger asked.

Aiden shrugged.

"Nessie tol' me t' keep an eye on you, so I'll do that."

"Oh. Um . . . Aiden? It's good that you eat bastards."

* * *

"Do you have any idea what you've done?"

Mercy paused and considered Charles. The Dethklok CFO was propped up in bed, IV still stuck in his arm, watching the press conference on CNN.

"No," she said. "Why don't you enlighten me?"

He really should have taken notice of the tone of her voice, but he was too busy wallowing in despair.

"The boys have to project a very distinct image to the public and – you've got them laughing."

Mercy looked over her shoulder at the television, where the press was engaging in a polite chuckle.

"I always felt you could put people at ease with a joke or two," she said coldly.

Charles shook himself.

"I still don't want you ever making a decision like that again," he said sharply. "Little building projects are one thing, but handling the band is something else entirely! It's bad enough when the boys wreck their public image, I don't need you girls adding to the disaster! It's important that you know your place!"

He expected tears; this was Mercy after all. She cried at the littlest things, but Charles had to be firm with her. He wasn't expecting the calm, calculating look she gave him. The red-clad triplet turned to her elder sister and ushered her towards the door.

"Faith, dearest, could you give us a minute? I'd like to speak to Charles alone," Mercy said in the same faux-sweet voice she had used at the press conference.

"He's under a lot of stress!" Faith said defensively. "And he's not well! Don't be too hard on him."

"Oh, crap. What's going on?" Hope asked, appearing in the hallway dripping wet.

Toki appeared behind her for a minute, also dripping. He squeaked in dismay when he saw Charles and ducked back around the corner.

"Nothiiiiiiiing," Mercy cooed. "Charles and I are just having a little chat. If you'll excuse us?"

Hope's brows knit in distress.

"I like him," she reminded her sister.

"I like him, too, that's why we're having this discussion."

Just before Mercy shut the door Charles saw Nathan peering around the corner.

"If you value our relationship, you will _never_ utter the words 'know your place' around me again. _Ev-er_. Are we clear on this?" She said in a tone that could have frozen water.

"Ah. That was a poor choice of words," Charles admitted. "_However_—"

"_Do not even start with me, Charles!_" Mercy cried. "All three of us have put up with an incredible amount of bullshit on this trip! And we have tried – dear God, we have tried to bear it with good humor! If you want to be angry with how this situation turned out, _fine!_ But don't you dare try to blame it on me!"

"I run this corporation like a well-oiled machine," Charles growled.

"_HA!_"

"-and I don't need over-enthusiastic lovers jumping onboard with no experience or training!"

"_Jumping onboard?_ We didn't sign up for any of this! We didn't even know you were rich when we started going out, much less the CFO of Dethklok! And that's another thing-!"

"Don't change the subject! That was another matter entirely!"

"You _lied_ about everything but your first name for the first eight months of our relationship! And we understood! We were fine with it! Now we're getting fastballs pitched directly at our heads and you're yelling at me for catching one!"

"Conway should have—"

"Conway's _dead, _apparently! Toki said he got eaten by the Kraken!"

"I seriously doubt we've seen the last of him."

"He was nowhere to be found this morning! We tried calling him and none of the Gears knew where he was! Nathan and Toki wouldn't help and you were still dead to the world! What was I supposed to do?"

"_Anything_ besides outing Toki?"

"If he'd done the press conference himself the outcome would have been the same! He told me he wanted to come out! I was ready to lie for him if that's what he wanted!"

"If you want to handle the boys right, you have to tell them what they want!"

"Pardon me for not being bloody psychic!"

They paused for a moment, both still angry but having nowhere to go from there.

"I'll – I'll _accept_ that this situation wasn't your devising," Charles finally said. "But do me the favor of never doing it again."

Mercy stared at him, obviously expecting something else. She wasn't going to get it.

"I am trying to keep my work and home life separate," the manager stressed. "A little help would be nice."

The middle triplet narrowed her eyes dangerously.

"_Right_," she said in a cold voice. "I'll have to start behaving like arm candy, is that it?"

"That isn't what . . ." Charles trailed off as Mercy went to the drawer holding his personal effects, found his wallet and helped herself to a few of his credit cards.

"Mercy, that's not very mature."

Mercy shot him a look that could have killed, then strode to the door.

"If anyone needs me, I'll be laying around uselessly, _like a good trophy girlfriend!_"

She yanked open the door and almost ran head-on into Matthias Conway. The CFO's personal assistant was slumped, exhausted, his suit in tatters and the remnants stained with stinking mud. In spite of this, he held a small bag of candy in his hands.

Mercy took the bag of gummi worms, then cast another dark look at Charles.

"He won't be needing those," she announced coldly, handing him back the bag. The middle triplet swept out into the hallway, where Nathan, Toki, Hope and Faith were peering cautiously through the doorway.

"_Men!_" Mercy spat.

"Don't look at me," Conway rasped.

The blond eyed Toki, still dripping, and Charles, laid out in an infirmary bed.

"Sir, I'm . . . I'm taking a personal day," Matty said weakly.

"That's understandable, Conway," Offdensen sighed. "Leave your phone on."

Matthias nodded, then turned and staggered down the hallway, shoving the gummi worms into Toki's hands as he passed. Toki opened the bag and started to eat the candy, his brow still knit in worry.

"I'll go talk to Charles," Faith said, starting for the door. She wasn't prepared for the enormous hand laid on her shoulder and nearly fell over backwards.

"You go talk to your sister," Nathan instructed. "I'll handle Charles. This is dude stuff."

Faith gave him a skeptical look, but nodded. She went after Mercy. Toki and Hope shared out the gummi worms, looking wretched.

"What exactly were you going to do with those?" Nathan asked. He appeared to think this over. "You know, without getting too specific?"

Hope looked down at the stretchy candy in her hand.

"Oh. Um . . . well, when a guy's dick—"

"Too specific," Nathan declared. He wasn't normally squeamish about discussing sex, but somehow it felt wrong when Charles was in the equation.

"What you does?" Toki asked.

Hope looked at Nathan, then gestured for Toki to bend down. The youngest triplet whispered in the Norwegian's ear. Pale blue eyes widened and he looked at the candy in surprise.

"Dat's ams _genius_," he declared. "I saves de rest of dese for laters."

Nathan let out a frustrated grunt.

"Okay, you try telling me, Toki. Maybe it won't be weird coming from another dude."

"Wells, when a guy's cock ams sos big you can't opens joos mouth that wide—"

"AUUGGH! I was fuckin' wrong!"

* * *

A splash behind Matthias let him know he wasn't alone. He still waited until he was well out of sight of Nathan and the others before he straightened and began walking normally.

"And the Academy Award goes to . . ."

JB snickered and leaned towards him eagerly.

"Soooooooooooooooo, how did it go? Since you're not really walkin' wounded I'm assumin' it was good?"

"Well, I am a little sore in places," Matty admitted, giving his rump a rub.

"I want every filthy detail an' don't spare the dirty words where appropriate!" Johnny Betty ordered.

"Faghag," Matty snorted. "Phooka . . . Phooka was still grieving. For me. He hadn't got over the fact that I was dead yet. And I took off before he came back. He just needed some time to get his head on straight."

"An' he couldn't have told ya this before he took off?"

"Flaky-ass fairy," Matthias declared, but there was warmth in his voice.

The pair reached Matthias's suite, guarded by a pair of Gears. They ignored JB completely – evidently she had her Glamour on.

"Conway, 4,583 said you were dead," one of the hoods stated bluntly.

"Rumors of my death were greatly exaggerated," the blond said with a smile. "But I do need a shower and about fourteen hours of sleep."

Matthias made his way into the suite, JB trailing silently behind. He headed straight for the bathroom, shedding the remains of his suit on the way.

"So where is Phooka? I thought you'd be all lovey-dovey and snuggly."

"We lovey-dovey'd all night long," Matthias declared with a sigh. "But he's plotting something with his brothers and sister. Evidently they had a plan to get a piece on the board as well."

"They aren't goin' t' trust you t' get the job done?" JB asked.

The newborn goddess halted outside the bathroom door. Matthias only shut the portal part way so that they could still talk. Many would have thought it odd that a goddess of sex would talk to a god of love around a door rather than see him naked, but Johnny Betty was raised post-human and liked to think she had manners.

"Hey, I wouldn't put all my eggs in one basket, either," Matthias said, starting the shower. "They started a band to gather the energy of their audiences and feed off of the scumbags in the music scene. Nessie thinks she can blackmail Pickles into letting them open for the Dethklok, but if that doesn't work, Phooka's going to seduce Toki and coast off of the fame."

"What?" JB squawked. "Phooka's going to seduce Toki? But what about-?"

"I understand the urgency of the situation. And when the shit hits the fan, I would not mind having seven kelpies backing us up."

"Point," JB conceded. "Are ya sure you're okay with this?"

"Hey, I never minded flings. Love is my concern," Matthias said, shutting the water off. He appeared in the doorway toweling off. "Why is it no matter how high class the hotel the towels always feel like sandpaper?"

"I wouldn't know," JB sighed. "But you guys are really better?"

"Yes, thank you for the meddling, dear heart," Matthias said, tossing the towel aside. "It's good to have my husband back, even if we do have to keep it a secret."

"You're sure you're—"

"Hey, you can only have sex with immortals, right?" Matthias said out of the blue. "I did mention Phooka's _five_ brothers are here, too? Five beefcake kelpies who are very much straight?"

JB considered this.

"None of them are dicks or idiots are they?"

"Shit, you _are_ picky," Conway said, climbing into bed. "Go torment Nathan or something. I'm going to bed."

The newborn goddess nodded thoughtfully, went to the balcony and stepped off, plunging down five stories to land lightly on the pavement before casually strolling into the surrounding jungle.


	20. Chapter 20

Nathan gave Charles a few minutes to fume. The lead singer went down to the lobby and bought a bag of chips and a soda before he went back up to the manager's suite. He didn't bother knocking, just pushed his way in. Charles was still propped up watching TV, but a growing army of tiny figures surrounded him.

"Are you doin' that origami shit again?" Nathan asked, pulling up a chair.

"According to my doctors, a hobby helps my blood pressure," Charles growled, putting a savage fold on the paper.

Nathan picked up a paper elephant and studied it. Evidently, no one was around to bring the manager proper paper, so he was using money.

"I haven't seen you do it for a while. Does that mean your blood pressure's been good?"

"No," Charles admitted. "A hobby's good, but blowjobs are better."

Nathan snorted.

"Kinda fucked that up, didn't ya?"

"Tell me about it," Charles sighed.

"What's _really_ intriguing about this entire affair is the _casualness_ with which it was announced!" The current reporter stated in amazement. "Dethklok manager Charles Offdensen didn't even bother to make the statement himself; he tagged an outsider!"

"That's a good sign," another talking head protested. "Dethklok is making a statement that someone's sexuality is unimportant."

"I think there'd be no scandal without reporters around to stir it up," an English gentleman on a satellite feed said. "I think 90% of people really don't give a monkey's. They're the ones at home going 'Oh, Toki Wartooth's bisexual; that's nice. Where did I put my keys?'"

"Is that Eddie Izzard?" Nathan wondered.

Charles looked up from folding a kitty out of a fifty dollar bill.

"Um . . . yes, yes I believe it is. I . . . uh . . . I like him; he's funny."

"Something more interesting than one of the band being a pervert happened!" A middle-aged woman on another satellite feed protested. "This is the first time a woman has ever represented Dethklok!"

"That's not true," Charles told the television.

"That's not true," the second talking head protested. "Pickles was represented by a woman before her untimely death last year—"

"I mean the band as a whole; not just one member!" the woman argued. "This could be a new direction for Dethklok!"

"The director for Euro-Dethklok is a woman," the second man continued. "AND Dethklok Oceania. Pickles' brother Seth is in charge of Dethklok Australia, but they say Marcella Balitaan picks up a lot of his slack."

"So, uh, I changed my mind," Nathan announced, eating a chip.

"About . . . uh . . . about what?" Charles asked, setting down the finished cat and picking up another bill.

"I like your chicks; they're cool."

Charles paused in his paper folding to rub his face.

"Last night when you were drunk as fuck we probably would have just dumped you in some bushes somewhere to sleep it off. But they came down to check on you and took care of you and shit. I like that. You need somebody to take care of you. They're good chicks."

"Are you trying to make me feel worse about this?" Charles wondered.

"Are you gonna keep 'em?" Nathan asked. "'Cause the press conference thing wasn't really their fault. I just didn't feel like telling 'em that bullshit story you cooked up."

Charles paused for a minute, then clenched his hands in his hair. The manager gave a long, heartfelt sigh that bordered on a sob, then went back to his paper folding.

"Ah . . . the . . the question at this point isn't . . . ah . . . isn't whether _I'm_ going to keep _them_, Nathan," he stated.

"Oh. Is it whether or not you'll ever touch more than two boobs at once again? Is that the question?"

"Something like that, Nathan."

"You did fuck more than one at once, right?"

"When I'm lucky," Charles sighed. "Or it's my birthday."

"We can still fix it," Explosion declared. "Where's your phone?"

Seeing Charles' cell on a nearby counter, Nathan snatched it up, scrolled through his contacts and opened a text to Mercy.

"What's her pet name?"

"I'm not telling you!"

"Is it 'Queen of Hearts'? That's what it says on her contact information, you sappy bastard."

"That's her code name," Charles said. "I . . um . . . I . . . ah . . . . I – I call her 'kitten', when we're . . . cuddling."

"Original," Nathan sneered, his fingers flying over the screen.

"What are you typing?"

"'Kitten, sorry I yelled. Big Daddy is under a lot of pressure. Blow all the money you want. Hugs and kisses, Charles.'"

" . . . don't send that."

"I already did," Nathan admitted with a grin.

Mercy looked at her phone and narrowed her eyes.

"Hmmmf," she declared.

"Is it Charles? You know he's freaking out; you shouldn't have been so hard on him," Faith said. "You should have just given him the cold shoulder."

"No! We've been yanked around this whole trip and I'm taking advantage of it! See; Charles said it was okay!" Mercy brandished her cell phone in her sister's face.

"Are you sure? 'Kitten'? He calls you 'kitten'?" Faith said, reading the text.

"Anyway, it's not like this island contains enough buyable crap to make the mighty Charles Offdensen notice it."

"You'd have to buy a small country," a warm voice observed. "I hear Monaco's nice."

Faith and Mercy looked towards the front seat. A native woman gave them a gleeful smirk in the rearview mirror.

"Wasn't . . . there a Gear driving?" Mercy murmured to her sister.

"I wasn't paying attention," Faith admitted.

She had simply piled into a limo behind her sister. She'd heard Mercy's snap to 'Drive!' but hadn't bothered looking up to see who was doing it. A thrill of fear skirled through her body as she wondered if that had been a fatal mistake.

"You ladies are in the right place," the native woman announced. "Cozumel is the sacred island of Ixchel, the –"

"The boner goddess; we heard," Mercy sighed.

The driver laughed.

"That's one way to put it," she said. "Ixchel is the goddess of women, fertility, water, and childbirth. She'd give men a boner if they played their cards right. If not, all the action they'd get would be by their own hand. Ixchel is a goddess of uppity women."

"That's funny; most sex goddesses are sluts," Faith stated. "It's the nature of the beast."

"Ixchel isn't most goddesses," the driver said. "Back in the old times, she was married to the K'inich Ajaw, the god of the sun, war, human sacrifice, kingship, and music. He was a fierce warrior, but much older than Ixchel and ol' K'inich got jealous about his young, pretty wife."

JB paused in her storytelling. She knew the old legends of Ixchel from having read them, but this time she was getting memories . . . memories from long before she had ever been born.

She'd taken up the mantle of Ixchel, answered to her name and now it looked as though the dead goddess was creeping back through her.

Johnny Betty should have seen that one coming.

"That doesn't sound like a good start to an uppity woman story," Mercy admitted.

"Oh, no, Ixchel loved K'inich Ajaw. He so big and fierce, but she always felt safe around him. He'd come in covered in blood and gore from a battle and she could only tell it was him by his big, hawk-like nose. Then he'd give her just a hint of a smile so she could see his sharp teeth. Ixchel would take him back to one of her chambers and bathe the blood from his body and take off his armor and ornaments until he was her beautiful poet-king again. K'inich Ajaw would sing to her and praise her above all goddesses. He loved his Rainbow Maiden."

A hint of a blush touched the young goddess's cheeks as memories of the warrior-god came flooding back to her: the breadth of his hands as they roamed over her body, the half-pleasure, half-pain of a nip from his sharp teeth, the power in his form as they made love again and again.

"Where does the jealousy come in?" Faith asked.

" . . . . huh? Oh, oh right! The jealousy." A thundercloud suddenly passed over the young woman's face. "K'inich Ajaw's _fucking_ little brother K'inich Kakmo started running his _cock-sucking_ mouth about how he'd been nailing Ixchel for years even though she'd never even looked sideways at the fucking bastard!"

Faith and Mercy exchanged a look. It seemed like a little too much ferocity for simply reciting an ancient legend.

"And it was like: 'Don't listen to your _wife_, who's been with you for years and borne your children, no listen to your fucking little brother, who wouldn't know the truth if it crawled up his ass!' They fought for days and K'inich Ajaw gave in to his anger and beat his wife." JB absentmindedly rubbed her cheek. "Some say he killed her in his rage. But Ixchel was a goddess. And they just don't stay dead. So she went back up to the moon and stayed there. She sent floods to wash away K'inich Ajaw's temples and ruin his battles, but she kept the rains to herself, so whoever wasn't drowning in floods was dying of thirst. And absolutely _nobody_ got laid! Not gods, not men; nobody! Ixchel's grandfather tried to order her to make the rain, but fuck him! He was a man! Fucking K'inich Kakmo tried to sweet-talk her out of the moon, but fuck _him_ sideways! All the gods came with their orders and pleas; everyone but K'inich Ajaw. Ixchel only made the moon rise at night so she wouldn't have to run into him."

"But one day K'inich Ajaw slowed down the sun so that the moon caught up with it. He opened his palace and invited Ixchel in. He gave her his throne and sword and admitted his guilt. Ixchel forgave her husband and made the rains come again. She stayed faithful to K'inich Ajaw. And the other gods made sure they never got on her bad side again!"

"That is a pretty good story," Faith admitted.

"I think it was mostly in the telling," Mercy said with a grin. "So you're saying we should channel Ixchel a little and wait for Charles to crawl?"

"Just a leeeeeeetle bit," JB said with a grin, holding her fingers close together. "It keeps them interested."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"My Lord, Lord Murderface is acting . . . . strange," the Gear announced.

"How can you tell?" Nathan inquired.

"Nathan, be nice," Charles said.

Finally freed from the infirmary, the CFO of Dethklok had showered, changed, and emerged to gather up his flock of head bangers. Gears lined up to give reports.

"His Lordship is acting like a civilized human being," the Gear stated, as if this said everything.

The Gear behind him made a frustrated noise.

"Lord Murderface is just trying to impress his new lady friend," the second Gear protested. "Cut him some fucking slack, 639."

"Lady friend?" Charles echoed. "William's . . . ah . . . found a lady friend?"

"That is weird!" Nathan announced.

"Oh hey, Affdensen; yer alive!" Pickles approached the group, a teenaged boy drifting along behind him.

"Yeah, his chicks took care of him," Nathan reported.

"Awwwwwww . . ."

"Hello, Pickles," Charles said. "Where is William now?"

"He took his . . . . companion into town to shop," 639 reported.

"Cahmpanion?" Pickles said, raising an eyebrow.

"Murderface has a girlfriend!" Nathan reported gleefully. "How long do you think it'll last?"

"Dood, no fuckin' way they make it t' th' end of the week!" the drummer chortled.

Charles didn't comment, because he caught sight of Hope lurking behind a few Gears, giving him a look so sad it would send the average kicked puppy slinking back to its kennel in defeat. The manager held out his arms for her. Hope immediately charged for him and nearly knocked Charles over in a hug.

"What happened?" she asked.

"I'm in trouble, but I deserve it for . . . ah . . . blowing up at the wrong person," Charles sighed, casting a dark look at Nathan. "Mercy's taking it out on my credit card."

"That's okay?"

"That's fine."

"You guys are just so fuckin' cute I could shit!" Pickles announced.

Charles chose to ignore this. Hope muffled a giggle in his shirt.

"Ah . . . who is that?" Charles asked, looking at the teenaged boy standing by Pickles.

"Oh, dis is Aiden; he's th' guitarist for th' Bograts. Aiden dis is Nat'an Explosion, Charles Affdensen and Hope . . . uh . . . Hope . . . well, just think of her as Mrs. Charles #1, I guess."

Aiden nodded to the group.

"How are ye then?" he said with a nod.

Charles eyed the boy for a minute. It was a little on the weird side that Pickles was hanging out with a teenage boy, but he was a fellow musician. Maybe he reminded Pickles of when he was a teenage runaway playing guitar in bands throughout L.A. At any rate, a young boy did not possess the capability to cause a large financial or emotional loss to a band member.

A girlfriend, however, did.

"Pull a car around; we're . . . ah . . . going to find William."


	21. Chapter 21

"Is that _really_ acceptable attire?"

"_Yes_," Dixie growled through gritted teeth. "It ain't 1865 anymore."

If anything, her outfit was more conservative than what she'd worn yesterday; she had the same cutoff jeans with a scoop neck top. 'Who's got the red shoes NOW, bitch?' the shirt taunted.

"I know; I shall buy you a nice long frock. How does that sound?" Ben inquired.

"I don't like long skirts. They make me look fat. Fatt_er_," Dixie corrected. "Why th' sudden interest in my wardrobe? You never said anythin' about th' way I dress before."

"It's a bit different seeing you around the house in . . . something like this," Ben gestured at his companion. "And being surrounded by strangers. At home I was slaved to my portrait. You very rarely take one of the nameplate screws with you."

"That's because you never shut up when I'm tryin' t' talk t' people," Dixie said. "I don't mind people thinkin' I'm a bitch, but not a crazy bitch."

"Ahhh, Dixie . . . always so deliciously vulgar," Ben sighed, shaking his head. "Now is not the time to quibble over bygones. Now we should celebrate. Some shopping for the lady, an elegant dinner, perhaps some dancing . . ."

Dixie squealed under her breath. She wanted to truly let go and enjoy herself without a care in the world. However, a side effect of dealing in the supernatural meant that she thought in more directions than most. While others might think 'Ben is in Murderface's body; we did it! Hooray!' Dixie's thought process ran more towards 'Ben is in Murderface's body, but he isn't locked in. Right now he's like a ship sitting at the dock, but not tied to it. A good enough wave could knock him back out to sea. And he's crap at acting like William Murderface. I have to keep reminding him to lisp and he only remembers for a few minutes. This isn't going to fool anybody. And I'd _really_ like to know what happened to Murderface's soul. I suppose he _could_ have crossed over, but sudden deaths usually linger around the body for at least a few days until it sinks in. Can Ben even play the guitar? Probably not. We are so fucked.'

But she was in a tropical paradise with the man she loved, even if she was used to him being insubstantial. Maybe she should stop worrying.

Ben hired a carriage to take them into town and the pair relaxed against plush red seats. Ben tilted his head back and reveled in the feel of the sun on his face.

"I don't believe I'll ever get tired of feeling that," he announced.

"You'd better not," Dixie said teasingly.

He was about to ask her what she meant by that when Ben realized his left hand was groping her breast. Much to his chagrin, the sinister appendage appeared to have a mind of it's own and was in no hurry to stop. While he loved reveling in Dixie's ample charms, in public in an open carriage was no place to do it!

"You _have_ been practicin' bein' naughty, ain'tcha?" she purred, leaning up to kiss him.

Ben tried to return the kiss as nonchalantly as he could. He gripped his left wrist with his right hand and forcibly restrained it. Why on Earth was the oaf's left arm so strong? When William had been back in charge of his body last night, Ben had easily taken control of his right hand. It was as if . . .oh damn and blast. William was left handed. Benjamin was right handed. By virtue of their reversed symmetry, even when one soul was controlling the body, the other soul could break through by use of his dominant hand.

Ben forced his left hand down towards the seats, where it busied itself fondling Dixie's rump.

"You're insatiable!" the women in question observed. "Will musta had oysters for dinner last night."

"How could I not be ready to ravish you senseless?" Ben teased gently.

The couple grappled gently in the back of the carriage until they reached town. William finally seemed to calm down as they alit. Ben gripped Dixie's waist with his right hand and kept her safely out of range of his left hand. The pair browsed through many shops and stalls. Except for a few instances of Ben having to pry the credit card out of his left hand to pay for purchases, it was a pleasant afternoon.

Tourists threw confused looks in their direction. It certainly looked like William Murderface, but he was dallying with a woman. He was well-groomed and dressed in something other than a dirty T-shirt and vest. It might have been Murderface, or it could have been a look-alike.

"Titian, look! I told you there would be a swordsmith," Ben stated, pointing at a shop.

Sure enough, a shop showed off sabers, foils, and broadswords.

"They probably ain't actually for fightin;, sugar," Dixie protested, getting dragged along by her much larger lover. "Just for people t' hang on walls an' shit."

"There he is!"

The redhead turned towards the shout, her blue eyes widening as she saw Dethklok bearing down on them.

"_William_, your friends are here!" Dixie hissed, trying to keep Ben between herself and the band.

"What friends? Oh yes, the band. Don't get your knickers in a twist, babe."

"W-what?"

"Being an oaf. Told you I'd been practicing," Ben said smugly.

He turned away from the redhead to face the oncoming rush of Dethklok.

"Oh, we're so fucked," Dixie moaned. "_Lisp!_"

"Is that her?" Nathan demanded, pointing at Dixie. "Isn't that the chick you thought stole your wallet? How'd you talk her into fucking you again?"

Ben started, clearly not expecting such an incredibly blunt question in such a rude format. He rallied quickly, stuck out his chin and placed his hands on his hips.

"'Give me ten minutes to talk away my ugly face and I'll bed the queen of France,'" he announced.

Dixie had to struggle not to slap her hand over her face. Nathan blinked.

"Dude . . . what?"

"Awww, she's cute!" Pickles declared, peeking at Dixie. "Y'know, fer a fat chick."

Dixie gave the drummer a lopsided grin and slipped her arm around Ben/Murderface's waist.

"Hey, I ain't overweight, I'm underheight!" she announced, holding her hand over her head. She was already short and looked tiny next to Murderface's six foot frame.

Pickles chuckled.

"An' she's gotta sense a' humor! Dat's good; not a lotta chicks have one."

"William," Charles said, nodding. "It's ah . . . nice to meet your . . . companion. Again."

There couldn't be two generously figured redheads on the island that he couldn't look at. He could see the woman's body; she had an overabundance of curves just where William liked them and still wore the large yellow and orange ring on her right hand. However, when Charles tried to look at her face, his eyes slid away.

"You must be Charles Offdensen!" She blurted, holding out her hand. "I'm Dixie Dunlap! But folks call me Double D."

Charles returned the handshake, but didn't take the bait. Skwisgaar did.

"I t'inks I knows whys!"

"Hmmf," Ben declared, turning and heading into the sword shop.

Charles watched him go. There was something wrong. William was acting strangely. Not what most people would consider strange, but strange for Murderface. He seemed far too . . . confident. Too self-assured. He also usually wasn't enough of a prick to leave his date alone with the rest of the band. Though, to be fair, that might have more to do with Murderface being afraid Skwisgaar would steal his woman than any kind of manners.

"Ah . . . Miss Dunlap, nice to meet you," Charles said, following William.

"Seriously, though, why the fuck would you give Murderface another chance?" Nathan asked Dixie.

"Hmmm, why would I give a billionaire with a dick so hard he can play th' damn guitar with it a second chance? Not real sure, but I think I just answered m'own question!"

"But he ams fats and uglies," Toki protested.

"I like guys with a li'l chub," Dixie said. "They give th' best hugs."

"Still uglies," Skwisgaar pointed out.

"Ya'll look the same in the dark!" She said with a grin.

* * *

"William, is ah . . . anything bothering you?" Charles asked.

William looked up from the saber he was inspecting.

"Whyever should anything be the matter, Charlesth?"

Offdensen stared for a long moment. Then he sighed. They had the wrong man. This must be the lookalike he had seen in the smoke of the first hotel. The resemblance was quite striking; this man even had a gap between his front teeth. And William was hardly an unusual name. It was a bit of a coincidence, but not outside the realm of possibility. William Murderface was probably sleeping it off on a beach somewhere. However, this incredible doppelganger was quite a find.

"Ah . . . I'm sorry, I think there's been a misunderstanding. I ah . . . I believe I saw you at the fire at the . . . Hotel . . . . Cozu-meeeel."

Charles usually spoke with a lot of hesitation and stutter. Now he trailed off entirely. As the man before him leaned forward in a practice lunge – which took years to learn and his form was perfect – his sleeve rode up and revealed a white scar on the back of his arm. William Murderface had that scar. Charles remembered when he got it; during his 'cutting' phase. William had a particularly bad day and slashed open his own forearm. He had cut too deep, panicked, the rest of the band had panicked and Charles had sacrificed a tie and his suit jacket to form a makeshift bandage and tourniquet. After that, they had agreed there would be no more cutting.

Looking like William Murderface was one thing; having the same first name wasn't that much of a stretch. But having the exact same scar?

"William? Ah . . . when did you learn to fence?"

"West Point, 1840," 'William' answered smoothly. "Fancy a match?"

"A match? . . . 1840 . . . oh. Ah." Great; he really needed another band member with a split personality complex. Toki had his child persona; now William had decided he had better luck being a Civil War officer. Could this trip get any more strange?

"Ah. . . sure. Why not? Let me . . . ah . . . see that epee," Charles instructed.

"What's that big one on top?" Nathan thundered, stomping in the door.

The shop manager looked up at the wall. At the very top, a long wooden shaft sprouted obsidian blades from either side. The wood was shaped somewhat like a giant baseball bat with black jagged blades like shark teeth.

"That is a maquahuitl, señor: an Aztec broadsword," the shopkeeper announced, handing Charles an epee.

"I want that, please!"

"Try not to hit people with it," Charles reminded his frontman.

"I'm not the one starting sword fights with Murderface," Nathan pointed out. "Try not to kill him."

Murderface paced out into the square and warmed up with his saber.

"I . . . uh . . . think William has . . . ah . . . developed another personality," Charles admitted.

Nathan Explosion considered this.

"Yeah. I can see that."

Charles sighed again and stepped out the door into the square. One of the men from the shop followed them to make sure the merchandise wasn't damaged.

"Will, what are ya doin'?" Dixie drawled, hanging on one of Murderface's sleeves. "Why th' hell would ya pick a fight with your boss?"

"He _isn't_ my employer and it's just a friendly match between chums. A woman wouldn't understand," William returned coolly. "Stand out of the way and watch, titian."

"_Will_," Dixie hissed.

"Stand back, woman," William growled.

He smacked her on the ass with his left hand and seemed surprised when his hand grabbed onto her shorts. The redhead gave him a bewildered look and yanked her Daisy Dukes out of his grip.

"Charles, I found Mercy and Faith!" Hope called, waving.

Sure enough, the other two sisters trailed behind Hope. Faith looked relieved to see him, but Mercy looked grumpy. An incredibly tall woman in a chauffer's uniform followed after them, bags and boxes in her arms. Faith and Mercy must have drafted their driver into carrying their shopping That was all right; they needed some 'girl time'. Hope would let them know how sorry he was about the whole ordeal. Hopefully, in a day or two he might be able to talk his way back into Mercy's good graces.

"Are we going to fence or are you going to stare at the ladies all day?" Murderface inquired.

"The saber's an . . . ah . . . interesting choice," Charles observed, sliding into an opening stance.

"I could say the same for an epee," 'William' returned. "It's more of a . . . . sporting blade."

"Sporting? What . . ah . . . practical use are you getting out of – oh right. Eighteen forty . . . Civil War and all that."

"_And_ the Mexican War. And dueling. There's quite a lot of use to be gotten out of a blade."

William took his own opening stance. Charles had to admire his form. Perhaps William had been taking fencing lessons. He was into Civil War reenactment and had a collection of medieval weaponry. At some point he had to have come across someone willing to teach him how to use all the blades in his possession. However, the boys were notoriously secretive about anything that could be construed as self-improvement. Only Toki was willing to admit when he took classes or learned new things. William – regular William – could have known how to fence for a while but never brought it up for fear of appearing sophisticated. And now psychotic break William was showing off the skill.

Charles wasn't sure why he was using his right hand, though.

"Wait! We are missing something," Will declared.

"We're sober?" Nathan guessed, coming out of the shop cradling his maquahuitl.

"What's ams goings on?" Toki asked.

"Dood, Murderface; why th' fuck are yeh gonna try t' fight Charles?" Pickles queried.

"It's . . . ah . . . just a friendly match," Charles protested.

The triplets arrived and quickly observed the situation.

"Go Charles!" Hope called. "Booo, Murderface! Sorry."

"A little ambiance!" 'William' suddenly declared. "Music!" He stabbed a finger at a nearby mariachi band who were looking for tourists to serenade. "A waltz, gentlemen!"

The musicians exchanged a look, but shrugged and started a sweeping waltz for the two men. Charles felt his jaw drop. Ordering musicians to play for their match? That . . . that was *WAY* too stylish for Murderface.

"_En guarde . . ."_ William breathed.


	22. Chapter 22

It's a common trope in movies to show two fencing masters start out with supremely slow, weak opening moves to supposedly 'judge their opponents.'

William didn't fence like that.

Charles was instantly on the defense, driven back by a flurry of blows from William's saber. The bass player took full advantage of his greater height and reach to push Dethklok's manager back. The circle of spectators ebbed and flowed around them as they danced across the flagstones, swords flashing in the tropical sun.

"C'mahn, Ahffdensen, he's kickin' yer ass!" Pickles called, whooping loudly.

"Beat 'is face off rotten!" Aiden agreed.

"Fight! Fight! Fight!" Nathan thundered.

Charles noted with a sort of dull numbness that William even had the nuances of parrying with the flat of his saber rather than the blade. Epees and foils only scored with the point and therefore one didn't have to rotate the blade to avoid nicking it on a parry. Sabers could also slash as well as score points with the tip, but to keep the blade side in good working order one couldn't catch an opponent's lunge on the sharp edge. That took quite a bit of time to perfect, which was why there were a lot more foil and epee fencers than saber fencers. Sabers fell out of popular use around the time dueling did, when the extra edge provided by the extra edge ceased to be practical.

Of course, if you were trying to keep up historical accuracy, then a saber would be the blade to use. Charles feinted to William's left and was rewarded with an unprofessional flinch. Ah ha, he did have a bad side. Odd that it would actually be William's left side, since he was left handed. In fact, he had been fencing right handed the whole time.

Charles kept up the attack on William's left, forcing the larger man to back in a circle to protect his weaker side.

"C'mahn, Murderface; he's kicking yer ass!" Pickles yelled, apparently completely neutral in this fight.

William played bass right handed, but that came from teaching yourself by mimicking right handed players. Playing guitar right handed was actually a lot easier for left handed people which fit well with William's philosophy that everything in life should be easy.

Murderface was suddenly pressing the attack again, defending his weaker left side with ease. It was if he simply needed to adjust his thinking. Which was very odd, because William didn't take well to change at –

The epee, never meant for anything more than hanging on a wall and looking cool, suddenly bent under Murderface's saber and snapped in half. The broken end cartwheeled past William's face and cut a gash across his cheek.

"William! Are you all right?" Charles asked, immediately stopping his attack.

The bass player's fist to his nose was all the answer he got. Offdensen fell back still clutching his broken sword. He curled on impact and somersaulted back over his shoulder to leap back to his feet.

"HEY!"

William Murderface – or at least the person using his body – looked over just in time to receive a full-force punch from Nathan Explosion.

"No hitting Charles!" the frontman roared.

Nathan may have been a tad overweight and edging towards fat, but when he hit something, it stayed hit. Murderface went down like a house of cards. Dixie let out a whimper and rushed to his side.

"You okay?" Nathan asked his manager.

"I'm fine, Nathan," Charles said, dabbing at the blood running from his nostrils. "It's ah . . . . just a busted nose." He didn't say how grateful he was that Nathan had stopped the fight with his fist and not the maquahuitl still clenched in his hand.

"Charles!" the cry came from three voices at once.

In the next instant, the manager was in the center of a concerned set of triplets, who cooed and dabbed at his nose with tissues and generally made a fuss over him. Charles slipped an arm around Mercy's waist before she could remember she was mad at him.

"What the fuck hit me?"

The band looked around. Murderface was levering himself into a sitting position, half helped and half hindered by Dixie. The bass player massaged his jaw experimentally.

"It fucking feelsh like Nathan," he accused darkly.

"Yous hitteds Charles," Toki informed him. "Of course Nat'an hitted you, asshole!"

"I hit . . . . what?" William looked over at Charles, bloody nose and all, then down at the saber lying by his side. "I – I didn't hit Charlesh," he protested weakly. "I did have thish really weird dream. There wash a mariachi band and a duel . . ."

"You're developing a split personality or something," Nathan growled. "Make sure the other guy knows there's no fucking hitting Charles."

"Uh . . . ok-ay," Murderface allowed. He looked over at Dixie. "Who the fuck are you?"

Dixie stared into her lover's face and cursed internally. So that was the reason she hadn't seen William Murderface's soul; it was still in his body. In Ben's haste to save the body, he hadn't waited for the soul to be fully severed. Maybe the act of another soul entering the corpse had drawn William back to his body like a leaf caught in an eddy. Whatever the mechanics, the result was that two men now shared one body. One of them adored her beyond all reasonable measure and the other one didn't even know her. Fucking great. It would have been nice to have more than a few seconds to process and plan for this. Damn it, Ben.

"Dood, don'tcha even recognize your girlfriend?" Pickles asked.

"You're back, sugar!" Dixie squealed, catching William's head in her arms and pressing it firmly into her cleavage. "You was actin' all kindsa strange this mornin'!"

Murderface made a vaguely happy noise and wrapped his arms around her waist. Split personalities and mystery girlfriends were one thing, but tits were tits and anytime you got to bury your face in them was good.

"Who else is hungry?" Pickles asked. "Can we have lunch now?"

"I could eat!" Aiden announced.

* * *

Swords paid for and bleeding stopped, the group made their way across the square to the same outdoor restaurant they had patronized on their first night. Three waiters set up an enormous table on the patio and swiftly replaced the wooden chairs with plastic ones. Oh yeah, they remembered Dethklok.

Dethklok and guests, rather. Charles had to admit, the triplets had helped him immensely on the trip, disastrous press conferences notwithstanding. Maybe he should invite them to move into Mordhaus. He'd have to speak to Conway about some sort of special precautions to protect them from the curse. It was rather nice having both of his families in one spot.

Then there was Miss Dunlap. She was having a good time. If there was an Olympic sport of having a good time, she wouldn't be able to compete because she'd be a professional. Upon arrival at the restaurant, the redhead had plopped down and ordered shots for her 'three favorite women'. Faith had coolly responded that they weren't doing tequila shots at eleven thirty in the morning. Dixie flashed her a mega-watt bright smile, asked 'Who said they were for you, bitch?' and downed all three herself.

The band thought it was hysterical. Dixie made a few extremely profane jokes that likewise had Dethklok in stitches. William laughed along with the others, but continued to sneak glances at Miss Dunlap as though he'd never seen a woman up close before.

" . . . and if ya believe that, then I've got a ten-inch dick!" she announced to further laughter. "And ya know I don't have a ten-inch dick, 'cause if I did I'd have it out showin' it to ya right now! I wish did I did have a dick," Dixie said, suddenly philosophical. "They look like so much fun t' play with."

Mercy shielded a snicker with one hand.

"Her sense of humor is . . . rather infectious," the middle triplet announced.

"So is chlamydia," Charles muttered.

There was just something about Miss Dunlap's routine that felt rehearsed. That's it; it felt like a routine. A comic warming up the crowd and keeping them laughing too hard to notice she wasn't supposed to be consorting with megastars.

"Well, hang on, I reckon I do have one t' play with now," she reflected.

The redhead reached over and gently cupped William's crotch. In the name of all that was unholy, he blushed. Murderface was the band member least capable of socially interacting with a woman and he was starting to flounder in the face of Hurricane Dixie. The rest of the band groaned and told them to get a room. Dixie giggled and . . . no, she didn't giggle, she _cackled_ and slipped her arm around William's instead. The bass player still stared at her, mildly panic-stricken. The redhead abruptly dialed things down and rested her chin on his shoulder. Charles couldn't hear what she said, but Murderface's shoulders relaxed a bit.

Offdensen's mouth tightened. He _really_ didn't like that Dunlap could read William so well and respond accordingly. That woman was going to eat Murderface _alive. _

"Aiden, what's up whichez? Ye dump us t' join Dethklok?"

A group of four men who looked like they were all cloned from the same mold were approaching the table. They all had curly black hair and flashing green eyes and similar features, but they were all over the board in terms of style, facial hair, and general cleanliness.

"Caderyn! Oengus! Padraig! Phooka! I'm just hangin' out wi' Pickles," Aiden said innocently.

"Oooh, right, he's getting in wi' th' band so's he kin replace Pickles when he finally OD's," The shaggiest one declared.

"Pickles is th' drummer, Oegnus," Aiden reminded him gently. "_You're_ our drummer. If anybody would replace Pickles in Dethklok it would be you."

"Oh, right then so."

"I don't think they'll be hirin' you," said a man with his dark curls carefully combed back and a very short beard said. "We only put up wi' you 'cause you're blood."

Charles was about to ask for introductions since it seemed that Pickles knew these people, but just then Toki looked over his shoulder, eyed one of the men and blurted out a sentence in Norwegian.

The long-haired man gave him a lazy smile.

"_Ja, honnig_," he answered.

Evidently Toki had offered to let the newcomers join them, because he held out the chair next to his for his fellow Norwegian speaker. Skwisgaar was sitting in it, but it was only the work of a moment to dump him on the ground.

"Whats de fucking fucks, Toki?" the Swede yelped.

Toki ignored him and gestured for the waiters to bring more chairs.

"You guys speak Norwegian?" Pickles asked in surprise.

"Th' family had t' move there for a while after . . . . after th' bad times," Aiden said. "Ye know . . . like I was tellin' ye about?"

"Oh . . . oh, right."

"Will?"

Charles looked around. Occasionally Dick Knubbler called Murderface 'Will', but he certainly didn't coo the name as sweetly as a courting dove. Dixie set her beer bottle in front of Dethklok's bass player, the lime forced into the neck, but still floating at the surface.

"Could you flip my beer for me, sugar?"

Murderface gave her a bewildered look. Charles wasn't sure if it was because a woman was speaking so sweetly to him or if he really didn't understand the request.

"Huh?"

"Put your thumb over th' hole an' turn it upside down so th' lime floats up," she requested, pushing the bottle towards him another inch. "Pleeeeeeease."

"You can't do that yourshelf?" Murderface sneered.

"No. My thumbs are too small t' fit over the hole. See?" Dixie tried to put her thumb over the bottle opening.

"Schit. You have tiny little doll handsh," William observed, putting his hand over hers.

"I'm a _girl_," Dixie announced. "See? Titties." The redhead cupped her hands under her breasts, lifting them for inspection.

"Yeah, that'sh uh . . . . could be padding," he said, trying to joke. The bass player copped a feel. Dixie didn't make any move to stop him, but tapped her bottle again.

"Beer, please."

This time William didn't protest, just sealed the bottle opening with his thumb and flipped it upside down, letting the lime float to the top of the beer.

"It's _her_," Mercy growled.

Charles looked to the other end of the table, where the remaining two Aughiskys were joining the party: Fion and Nessie.

"Who . . . ah . . . who is that?" He asked.

Hope and Mercy exchanged a look, then stared at Charles.

"You don't remember her?" Hope asked in amazement.

"Is there a reason I should?"

Hope and Mercy squealed in delight and hugged Charles from either side.

"You were _so_ drunk," Faith observed. "And you still told her to take her skank act on the road."

"Ah . . . what?"

"Miss Augustine over there offered to fuck you for access to a business deal," Mercy reminded her lover gently. "She must have thought you had three ladies already so obviously you didn't care about them beyond the carnal."

"You implied she was a cheap hussy and then told her you weren't interested. And this while you were so drunk Toki had to hold you up!" Hope said, beaming.

"Oh . . . .ah . . . good?"

"Wonderful!" the triplets announced, hugging him again.

"Oh, ah, good. Can I ask a favor of your women's intuition? What . . . ah . . . what do you think of her?" Charles pointed discreetly at Dixie. "Her jokes seem . . . . rehearsed."

"Maybe she's a comedienne," Hope offered.

"She probably does rehearse them," Faith murmured.

"I use humor t' make up for bein' fat," Dixie announced loudly. "Men prefer a fat chick in a good mood t' a . . . . oh, what's th' word I'm lookin' for? A beautiful bitch? If you look like me, you'd better be in a good mood an' carry a joke book in your back pocket just t' make sure."

The triplets blushed hotly.

"I – I never brought your appearance into the equation," Charles stated.

"You're not that fat," Murderface protested. "And . . . . uh . . . you're . . . uh –"

"You have a nice smile," Nathan offered.

"Yeah! Yeah! That'sh it!"

"Awwwwww, lie t' me some more," Dixie requested, cuddling up to William.

"You . . . uh . . . you have a very cute facshe!"

Behind Dixie's back, Nathan gestured to his eyes.

"And pretty eyesh! Pretty . . . little . . . kitty cat eyesh. . . and incredible titsh!"

"Ohhh, how sweet! Somebody's gettin' his cock sucked tonight," Dixie announced.

William's eyes widened.

"Ish it me?" he inquired.

"Yes, sugar, it's you."

"Yesh! Blowjob!"

Dixie giggled in amusement. In truth, the only way she was going to stick around long enough for Ben to take power again was to be in Murderface's good graces. If she had to fuck him, so be it. Luckily, he seemed to be a lot nicer the second time. If Pickles said she was his girlfriend, Will appeared to take it at face value.

She could stand this for a while.

Down the table, Toki was flirting shamelessly with Phooka Aughisky. More to the point, _no one appeared to care._ Nathan glanced at the pair once and merely rolled his eyes. Skwisgaar frowned at Toki occasionally, but he seemed more hung up on getting dumped out of his chair than anything else. William had his hands full with his new companion – literally and figuratively. Pickles sat in the middle of a big crowd of Irish musicians and appeared to be having the time of his life.

"'Stinky dog'?" He asked Caderyn. "I thought it was 'Stinky Da'."

The Bograts rocked with laughter at this declaration.

"Yeah '_a beggarman, Stinky Da_'," Pickles sang.

"'A beggarman's stinky dog'," Padraig corrected, chuckling.

"Ye're new name is 'Stinky Da'!" Aiden laughed.

The conversation ebbed and flowed around the table. Food came, plates were emptied and taken away. Coffee and pie came around and still the huge group chatted and talked and relaxed until pink streaks started to form across the sky. They finally got up and started across the plaza towards the cabs and carriages waiting for fares.

Pickles wobbled dangerously, but Aiden grabbed his arm and put it around his shoulders.

"Easy, Stinky Da'," the young musician said.

Fion Aughisky started to hum as they strolled.

"_I was prowling all night  
down the Hell Street  
beside me a beggarman, Stinky Da  
Talking 'bout life so bona fide  
then woke up beside an old beggar mug  
Slept in the alley and dreamt about Sally  
My pillow was my torn shoes  
Had a marvelous sleep on a drunk cold night  
Thanks for the bittersweet booze,_" Aiden sang, Pickles still leaning on him._  
_  
_"If you don't see the light  
On drunken winter nights  
And the pain's deep in your bones  
And if you need a friend  
I'll be there to hold your hand  
Then you'll never walk alone," _every Aughisky sang in perfect harmony.

Nessie's voice was pretty much drowned by her brothers', but she moved to Phooka's side and put her arm around his waist. The other Aughiskys moved into a long line, their arms around each other's shoulders with Pickles right in the middle of them._  
_  
"_Don't let the sun and the skies fall down  
Whisper the sound from your soul  
Hold my weak hands and don't say goodbye  
Then we'll never walk alone_."

Charles had never heard this song before, but just by the way the brothers (and sister) sang it, he could tell it was more than just a song. It was an anthem for their family; something to live by. Even if you didn't have a dime and nowhere to sleep, you still had your brothers (and sister).

"_I'm prowling all night with my hands in my pocket  
They're hardened into stone  
Just pull me in deep so I dare to confess  
Sometimes you can't make it on your own  
Can't hear my heart beaten until it's covered  
with sorrow, we're two worlds apart  
As I can find a silent place  
I'm one foot close to my heart_."

Aiden took up the bridge alone, his young voice sweet and clear. Pickles stared at the young musician as if he was undergoing a religious experience. Something was happening around him – something he didn't quite understand, but suddenly wanted to be a part of. The rest of the family chimed in for the chorus again.

"_If you don't see the light  
On drunken winter nights  
And the pain's deep in your bones  
And if you need a friend  
I'll be there to hold your hand  
Then you'll never walk alone_

Don't let the sun and the skies fall down  
Whisper the sound from your soul  
Hold my weak hands and don't say goodbye  
Then we'll never walk alone."

Aiden took up the song again. Pickles wondered why the Bograts didn't have their youngest brother sing, because he had the voice of an angel.

"_How do you find the right way  
If there's no shining light?  
How do you trust your real belief  
If destiny's the one who's defied?  
How can be the pain so timeless  
If time is on your side?  
How do you find your real belief  
If there's no shining light?_"

This time Pickles joined in, feeling a strange and unfamiliar sense of belonging as he did so. He didn't feel any real connection to his own family, other than a sense of loss. There should be something there, but there wasn't. There should be feelings like this.

"_If you don't see the light  
On drunken winter nights  
And the pain's deep in your bones  
And if you need a friend  
I'll be there to hold your hand  
Then you'll never walk alone_

_Don't let the sun and the skies fall down_  
_Whisper the sound from your soul_  
_Hold my weak hands and don't say goodbye_  
_Then we'll never walk alone_

_Then we'll never walk alone_

_Then we'll never walk alone_."

The last of the song died away as the line of kelpies approached the ocean side road. The rest of Dethklok trailed along behind them, enjoying the song, thinking on the evening's activies and (most of them) planning sex.

In hindsight, it was a good thing a line of immortal beings were there to catch the bullets.


	23. Chapter 23

Screams erupted in the square as machine gunfire tore into the crowd. Charles twisted and dove to the side, finding cover behind a shop wall. Someone collapsed across his legs and the manager nearly kicked them in the face before he realized it was Hope. A quick scan of the square revealed Toki and Skwisgaar cowering behind a shop on the opposite side of the square, Nathan huddled behind the base of a statue of a Mayan goddess, Murderface and his companion were trying to squeeze behind an information kiosk and Pickles . . . where was Pickles?

Movement caught Charles' eye. The line of corpses that had been the Bograts hid one extremely stressed ginger drum player. Then again, perhaps 'corpses' wasn't the right word, because the big bass player, Fion, was moving.

His head snapped up sharply, revealing rows of needle-like teeth and eyes that had gone flat black, like a shark. Another bullet clipped his arm. Instead of the familiar spray of red blood, a sticky white substance splattered across the cobbles. In the next moment, all of the Aughiskys were on the move. Aiden caught Pickles around the waist and hurried him to shelter, dragging the larger man along as though he weighed nothing.

The remaining Aughiskys quite simply disappeared. Shimmering blurs of movement took off over the water, leaving rooster tails in their wake.

Charles pressed a button on his watch. Nothing happened outwardly, but every Gear in a twenty-mile radius was now on high combat alert and ready to repel assailants.

"Where's Mercy and Faith?" Hope asked over the cacophony.

Charles did another scan of the square. He caught sight of Faith behind a hurricane wall a few meters inland of Skwisgaar and Toki. He had to assume Mercy was with her, because he couldn't see the third sister at all. Faith was scanning the area with the same calculating eye as Charles. Their eyes met across the war torn square. Time seemed to slow as Faith saw Charles' eyes widen in horror. The eldest triplet looked behind her. Moments ago, Mercy had been behind her, talking about finding a way to get to Toki and Skwisgaar.

Now Faith looked up into the balaclava of an armed commando. An armed commando who was aiming a rifle at her head. If time had slowed before, it seemed to stop now. Faith was suddenly aware of every speck of gravel digging into her hands, every whisper of cloth against her skin, every thundering beat of her own heart. The man was just out of range for a lunge or a kick. She wouldn't be able to reach him before he had time to pull the trigger.

Faith Noh was about to be killed and there wasn't anything anyone could do about it.

"_Vive los Revengencers_," he announced and pulled the trigger.

From Charles' perspective, the scene was no less horrifying. The rifle kicked, there was a loud retort and _something_ covered Faith. It shimmered blue, lanced with blue-white light where the bullet hit it, and gave off little sparks that . . . that were shaped like hearts.

"Good man, Conway," Charles breathed in relief.

"Thank you, sir," came Matthias' voice. "Let's get you out of here, shall we?"

Hope tugged on Charles' arm. The manager took another moment to check the scene. Murderface and his ladyfriend were still pinned down by fire, but something that moved in an impossibly fast shimmer took out the commando attacking Faith, and Mercy had reached Toki and Skwisgaar. She came in through the back of the shop and she had someone's flak jacket and rifle. Nathan had been hiding behind the base of a statue of a Mayan goddess. Commandoes were closing in on him, but the statue of the goddess was no longer a statue. And she looked pissed.

"Very well done, Conway," Charles said, looking back at his assistant.

Matthias Conway was standing just behind Hope. The immortal's wings were uncased but he was still dressed in one of his dark suits, like a very formal angel.

"It's all right, Hope," Charles said. "Conway is . . . here to help."

* * *

Nathan backed up against the statue base. He was scared, but over the top of it was anger. He was getting really fucking sick of this shit. He just sang in a fucking band; why the hell were people always trying to kill him? The Rolling Stones never had to put up with this shit!

The barrel of a gun appeared just around the corner of the statue base. Without thinking, Nathan grabbed the rifle with one hand, jerked forward, and swung the maquahuitl. Unlike Charles' epee, the native sword was only too happy to kill on command.

"Drop it!" a second soldier commanded, stepping around the body of the first. This one was smart enough to stay out of range. "Drop it, Explosion!"

Nathan never got the opportunity to obey, because the man's rifle fell apart. There wasn't anything so messy as an explosion, it was if all the pieces just decided to go their separate ways. There was a little splash of water from the parts as they hit the ground. The commando scrabbled for his sidearm, but the grip came out of the hostler without the barrel. The three other soldiers were having similar troubles.

"You fucking morons just don't get it, do you?" Nathan snarled. "We aren't just some regular jack offs. We're gods!"

JB leapt down from the plinth just as he made this declaration. Nathan whirled towards her, maquahuitl raised and blood from the unfortunate soldier dribbling down his face. For what seemed like a long moment, the two natives stared at each other. JB had meant to say something like 'Now that the playing field is leveled, make yourself useful.'

But she could never quite manage 'imperious' around Nathan Explosion.

"Show me your teeth, Crocodile God," Ixchel murmured.

Nathan gave her a grim smile and attacked the commando sneaking up behind him. Nathan Explosion had very sharp teeth, the young goddess reflected. She always thought it was special effects for the videos but he had teeth like a wolf.

As Nathan tore into his attackers, JB reached into the body of a soldier attempting to take her hostage, took control of his water and used it to break the man's neck.

"I wonder why I called him 'Crocodile God'," she mused.

* * *

"__!" Murderface whimpered, trying to huddle behind an information kiosk that really wasn't big enough to hide his bulk. Only the fact that it had been set with concrete and stones to make it match the plaza made it any sort of shelter at all.

"Th' stone's startin' t' fall off," Dixie observed.

The redhead was practically curled up in his lap; not because she was scared, but because she was taking shelter behind a larger object – William Murderface.

"_Oh fuck!_"

"We need t' move; it's a miracle this li'l hut has held up this long."

"_Oh god!_"

"I can get outta here," Dixie announced, sitting up. "But I'm pretty sure you're fucked, sugar."

"No! You can't leave me here! You're shupposhed to be my fucking girlfriend! You can't leave me!" Murderface cried, gripping her by the arms.

Dixie stared into those terrified green eyes and sighed. A plea like that was too pathetic to ignore. And she really did need his body intact for Benjamin.

"Well, all right. You can come with, but you _gotta_ stay behind me. An' I mean completely behind, not one finger sticking out! A'ight?"

William stared at her in bewilderment. How the hell did she expect a six foot tall, pushing three hundred pound man to hide behind a five foot tall, even though she was fat, she wasn't that fat woman?

"Why aren't you afraid?" the bass player asked.

"Honey, I'm fuckin' terrified," Dixie admitted. "I'm just puttin' it away for later. You gotta take me with you when you go back t' Mordhaus."

"What? Okay, all right! Just get me out of here!"

"Stay right behind me," Dixie reminded him, then stepped out into the gunfire.

Murderface plunged after her.

"William, what are you _doing_?" Charles screamed over the din.

"Not fucking dying!" William screamed back.

Against all odds, he wasn't. Dixie seemed to know exactly when and where each bullet would hit and made sure she wasn't there. There was no invisible shield like Faith had. The redhead lost a lock of hair when the wind blew her curly mane back. She paused in the open while a torrent of shells heated the air mere inches from her chest, then grabbed Murderface's shoulder and leapt forward when the gunner adjusted his aim.

"Oh, she's Walking Between," Cupid declared. "I've never seen it done with bullets before."

"What is she?" Charles demanded.

"Human," Matthias said. "Very human. Just a little more in tune with the supernatural than most."

"Get out there and stop the shooting!" Charles ordered.

"Give it another few seconds and Kelpie Team Six should have it under control," the immortal said. "The Dethcopter will be here in 1.3 minutes." The immortal spread his wings. "I'm going to check on Toki and Skwisgaar. Try not to die in the next few seconds, boss."

"I'll make every attempt," Charles stated firmly.

As Murderface and Dixie dove behind the sturdier shelter of the shop, Matthias took off into the skies.

* * *

"Yer hurt, yer hurt, Oh my Gahd, yer hurt!" Pickles wailed.

Aiden let go of the drummer and leaned against a wall, clutching his injured shoulder. Everything from his clavicle to his armpit was a mass of oozing, sticky whiteness. Somehow the wrong colored blood made it worse.

"How are you hurt? I mean, fairy – how could it hurt you?"

"There's iron _in_ steel, yeh know," Aiden pointed out. "Acccchh, that was a bad hit. I need t' eat."

"Ye been stuffin' yer face all day!" Pickles pointed out.

"Wi' _human _ food," the young kelpie pointed out. "Now I need t' stuff me face wi' _human._"

"Oh, okay! Human. . . human. . . .dood, there's never a cop around when you need one!"

Aiden almost laughed. It was hard to believe this morning Pickles had been terrified of being too close to him and was now trying to find someone for him to eat. The ginger had fit right in with the kelpies once he was off of the menu.

"I've got the drummer! Put your hands in the air, Pickles!"

Dethklok's drummer looked around to see two rifle-bearing commandoes entering the narrow street.

"Aiden, would they work?"

"They'll do nicely, Stinky Da'."

* * *

Mercy felt better with a flak jacket. She found a commando dead, his neck broken with such force it nearly decapitated him. She did wonder what could have done that, but right now all she could do was hope it had been friendly and take anything useful.

She helped herself to the dead man's flak jacket, rifle, sidearm, and ammunition. She tried his helmet as well, but it fell down over her eyes. She wasn't real sure why, but she had to find the boys. Was it because Toki had asked her to play his mother? Would she feel such a deep urge to protect them otherwise? Well, probably; she was a protective person.

A commando peered around the corner and Mercy put a bullet in his neck without much thought. For 'commandoes' these guys were sloppy. They certainly weren't prepared for targets that fought back. That was odd enough; there were several squads of combat Gears on the island. The force they were facing was too large for a precision strike, but too small for a full battle.

Mercy dug a mirror decorated with sea shells out of the wreckage of a shop and used it to check for hiding spaces without exposing herself. This was like Kandahar all over again.

No soldiers, also no Toki and Skwisgaar. Mercy moved onto the next shop.

As she was clearing the second shop, the sound of machine gun fire stopped. Mercy was tempted to call it a 'sudden silence', but silence wasn't filled with things like distant screaming and wood splintering.

Toki and Skwisgaar were huddled in the third shop.

"Toki! Skwisgaar! This way!"

The two guitarists located her and dashed around to hide behind the schoolteacher.

"Who else are we missing?" She asked.

"Murdersface . . . uh, Nat'ans and Pickle," Skwisgaar answered.

"Murderface and Nathan are pinned down. I haven't seen Pickles."

Something rushed down beside her. Mercy was already turning with rifle ready when she felt her arms lock up.

"Relax, it's just me," Matthias said.

The assistant folded his wings back.

"Charles, Murderface, Nathan, and Hope are safe for the moment," he announced. "The kelpies have taken out the gun boat. Combat Gears are cleaning up the perimeter and the Dethcopter should be here in ninety seconds. Head back through the shops and meet up with Charles. Mercy, I'm guessing you know how to move safely, since you're the gal with all the guns."

"Uh . . ." Mercy said.

She wanted to point out that Matthias could fly. And he had wings. But Toki and Skwisgaar didn't seem shocked. They didn't even seem startled. Should she point it out? 'Excuse me, I can't help but notice . . .' 'Matthias Conway . . . . that doesn't _sound_ Heavenly.'

"I'm going to find Faith and Pickles. I you meet one of the kelpies, stick with them, they'll protect you."

Matthias spread his wings and took off into the skies. Mercy watched him go, then turned her gaze back to the guitarists.

"What's a kelpie?"

"It ams de same things as a _nǿkken_," Toki answered.

"That doesn't really help," Mercy sighed. "Let's get back to the others."

Faith had met one of the kelpies.

Fion Aughisky walked the eldest triplet across the plaza like a bouncer escorting waitresses to their cars at night. He kept himself between Faith and the sea, but she glanced around him. Out in the water, she caught a glimpse of two enormous, serpentine necks coiling over the ruins of a boat. One raised up a huge dragon-like head, replete with horns and a long black mane. A flailing human figure hung out of its mouth. The second creature lunged up from the water and grabbed the upper half of the man. The two serpents pulled in opposite directions. Fion stepped up to block Faith's view of the gristly scene.

Before she could even process what she'd seen, Charles was pulling her into his arms and squeezing. Hope put her arms around her sister from behind and all three of them clutched tight.

"That guy shot you," Hope whimpered.

Faith stared straight ahead numbly. She remembered seeing the rifle kick and she flinched and then . . . . no pain and then the big Aughisky was there faster than humans could move . . . sea serpents . . .winged assistants.

"What the hell is going on?" Faith breathed.

If someone answered her, she didn't hear it. The band started arguing, Gears swarmed the area and the steady 'whump, whump, whump' of a helicopter drowned all conversation.

She was guided gently onto the aircraft and placed in a comfy chair. Charles bustled around getting the band calmed down. The next time something like real thought crossed her mind was with the rattle of teacups being set down.

They were in an enormous, richly decorated room. Dethklok sat on huge black leather couch at the opposite side of the room. Aiden Aughisky sat next to Pickles, and Dixie Dunlap was next to Murderface, unsuccessfully trying to light a cigarette. The rest of the Bograts sprawled about the room in other couches and chairs or even on the floor in Oengus's case.

The triplets had been set aside at a small bistro-style table. A Gear had just set a cup of tea down in front of Faith. There was an ornate pot of tea, a plate of cakes and sugar and cream for the tea.

"Thank you," she said automatically.

"Are you feeling better now?" Mercy asked her sister.

The middle triplet had tears streaming down her cheeks. She didn't sob, but her combat experience made her revert to the wet, soppy mess she usually was in times of stress.

"I – yes. We're on the Dethcopter?"

"Charles is taking us back to Mordhaus," Hope reported. "He says it's safer."

"He's probably right," Faith conceded. She took a long sip of tea. "This is very good tea."

Across the room, Charles took in his larger-than-normal flock of headbangers.

"I . . . uh . . . don't suppose there's anywhere we can . . . uh . . . drop you fellows?" he was asking.

"No!" Toki and Pickles yelled in the same voice.

"You can'ts whats dump dem off, dey saveds us lives!" Toki yelped.

"Yeah, we couldn't even survive with bodyguards, we needed kelpies t' protect us!" Pickles cried.

"And . . . ah, we're very grateful," Charles said. "But have you thought that maybe they don't want to come back to-"

"We're fine wi' that," Padraig protested.

"What my brother means is tha' we could come t' a mutually beneficial arrangement," Nessie said with a smile. "Dethklok needs protection, we want t' open for Dethklok . . ."

"Yes, why exactly would you want to do that?"

"Th' money does help," Nessie stressed. "Th' energy we get from th' crowds is nice, but we need cash t' tour."

"This way, no one will question us hanging around an' we can keep you all safe," Phooka said, laying his hand on Toki's shoulder.

The rhythm guitarist blushed, but laid his hand over the kelpie's.

Nessie looked over to the triplets, pointed at the three women and opened her mouth.

"No, I am not interested in you joining our group," Charles snapped. "Our relationship is about love, not sex, and you can't just jump in."

He became aware of everyone staring at him and cleared his throat nervously.

"Actually, luv," Nessie said. "I was after askin' for tea an' cakes."

"Ah . . . oh."

"Phooka's th' one wi' an unhealthy relationship wi' food," the female kelpie said, jerking her thumb at her brother.

Phooka was leaning against the back of the couch, threading his fingers through Toki's hair.

"Can we have tea an' cakes, too?" Aiden asked.

"Dood, you been stuffin' yer face all day!" Pickles protested. "Where does it go?"

"Hey, you know what teenage boys are like," Nathan said. "And I want some cakes if we're havin' it. Them. Whatever. Get us some!"

The Gears scrambled to gather enough tea and cakes for both bands.

"Sh-shit," Dixie suddenly mumbled. "I can't put it off no more. Where's a bathroom?"

The redhead was shaking and pale. Her brow was covered in cold sweat. Evidently the post-trauma cigarette hadn't been enough to calm her. A Gear gestured to a nearby door. Dixie leapt up off of the couch and rushed through it. Scarcely had the door slammed behind her than the sound of a woman having a meltdown echoed through the main room.

Slowly, every eye turned towards Murderface. The bass player looked from person to person until he confirmed that yes, everyone was staring at him.

"What?" he demanded.

"Aren't you, uh, gonna comfort your girlfriend?" Nathan posed.

" . . . how would I do that?"

"Gives hers a hug!" Toki blurted.

"Yeah, tell she's safe now an' shit," Pickles added. "Gahd, you suck at this!"

"Uh . . . I should do that _now_?" Murderface asked. "She'sh in the shitter."

"Oh my God, haven't you ever done this before?" Nathan asked. "Knock on the door and ask if she's all right. She'll say she'll be out in a minute. Then you wait until she comes back. Then hug her and kiss her on top of the head. They like that."

"It has to be on tahp of the head? Dood, you sound like a dating guide," Pickles snorted.

"Don't chicks like being kissed on top of the head?" Nathan asked Charles.

"I . . . ah . . . don't believe I've ever kissed one there," Charles admitted.

The conversation was derailed by Oengus yawning. When a kelpie yawns and doesn't care who sees his teeth, it can be quite a sight. Charles noticed most of the kelpies seemed drowsy. The big guy even had his eyes closed.

"After we get a good feed on, we tend t' get sleepy," Nessie said, sipping her tea.

"Gears, show our . . . ah . . . guests to somewhere they can rest," Charles ordered.

Klokateers rounded up the drowsy fairies to let them rest. Murderface got up off the couch and rapped on the bathroom door. He returned to his seat giving Nathan an impressed look.

The current crisis dealt with, Charles sat at the bistro table and dabbed at Mercy's tears with a napkin.

"Are you all right?" He asked.

Mercy nodded.

"There's . . . . there's a lot of crazy things going on around you, Charles," Faith said.

"That's true," the manager sighed. "I . . .uh . . . suppose I should have told you earlier, but I didn't think you would believe me."

"We believe you," Hope said simply.

"Well, this may seem a bit of a turn-around, but you're in all the way now," Charles said. "Will . . . ah . . . will you ladies move in with me?"

The triplets stared at him dully. They were tired, haggard, and still shell-shocked. The world was not as they knew it to be and he was trying to be romantic. Faith gave a soft blurt of laughter with absolutely no humor in it.

"You . . . _now_ . . . you want us to move into Mordhaus?" she asked.

"Well . . . keeping you at a distance was my way of trying to keep you safe. That was a temporary measure, obviously. Now that I have . . . something more permanent in place I want you with me. I . . . I love you."

" . . . what do you mean, 'more permanent'?" Hope asked.

"I was shot," Faith announced, clutching her tea cup. "But I wasn't. What –"

"Conway has awarded you his protection. He likes you," Charles stated.

"He has wings," Mercy observed. "He can fly. Is he an angel? Why would an angel protect Dethklok?"

"Ah . . . he's not an angel. And he gets irritated if you call him that. It's best not to assume every winged immortal you meet is one."

"Silly me," the middle triplet snorted.

"Why isn't _her_ brain breaking?" Hope asked, pointing.

Dixie came out of the bathroom wiping her eyes. She sat next to Murderface again. With a questioning glance to Nathan, the bass player wrapped one arm around his 'girlfriend' and kissed her on top of the head. She looked surprised by this, but snuggled against William.

Nathan nodded in approval.

"She . . . ah . . . she . . . ah . . . this isn't her first rodeo," Charles said. "She's just dealing with getting shot at."

"I thought you didn't know her," Mercy said.

"Ah . . . I saw her Walk Between a hail of bullets. This isn't her first rodeo," Charles repeated. "So . . . ah . . . will you move in with me? We'll make it as official as possible. Start a family?"

"Yes!" Mercy said.

"'Official as possible?'" Faith echoed. "What do you mean by that?"

"Well, ah. . . there's not a lot of countries that would recognize it, but well, technically Mordhaus _is_ a sovereign nation."

The big shock of the supernatural must have been slowing down the triplets' normally quick wits. They gave Charles a blank look.

"So . . . . ah . . . it . . . it would only be a matter of paperwork to . . ah . . . make polygamy legal."

_Now_ it sank in. One after another, the triplets' jaws dropped. It was like something out of a cartoon. Charles had to smother a snort in his fist.

"You actually want to marry us?" Hope squawked.

"Was that a proposal?" Faith wondered in the same breath.

"Ah . . ." Charles snuck a look over his shoulder. Sure enough, he was the center of attention. Dethklok stared at him as if he'd grown another head. In fact, they probably would have been _less_ shocked by that.

"Um . . . there will be a formal proposal at a later date," he quavered. "When . . . when I have the rings. And we're alone."

Hope squealed and threw her arms around his neck. Charles hugged her back and kissed her, then went around the table and cuddled each of the triplets in turn. Mercy seemed loathe to let him go, but she finally did when the Dethcopter broke through the clouds.

"Oh!"

Charles turned to see the dragon's head of Mordhaus silhouetted against the sun.

"Ladies . . . . welcome to Mordhaus."


End file.
